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n the left the gaze rested on dark Parnes, whose strangely-formed side-spur, Harma, the chariot, was distinctly visible from the Cychreans’ c

liff. For a long time Bys


sa saw nothing, then she accidentally noticed, much nearer than she had expected, a whit


e spot among some trees. “There he is! There he is!” she cried joyously, clapping h


er hands. “Tratta, rejoice! I see a light spot out there—his white horse.” I


n a mountainous country like Attica even the plains are uneven, and a rise of the ground concealed

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her view of the approaching steed. At last the light spot appeared again—this time considerably nearer. Then several moments passed, during which it seemed to grow larger. Byssa strained her sight to the utmost, her bosom heaving with anxious suspens

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e. Suddenly she turned very pale and throwing herself upon Tratta’s breast, faltered in a low voice:

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“Something terrible has happened. The horse is alone—riderless.” Almost at the same ins

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tant she released herself from the slave’s embrace and went to the very verge of the cliff. From


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