A hurried conference was held. None of them would venture to approach him, though they had possession of his sword. ‘Let us set fire to the house,’ someone proposed. ‘If he is not burnt alive, we can slay him as he escapes.’ This was agreed on. The cowardly assailants collected a quantity of fallen leaves and dry wood, and, piling these combustibles noiselessly before the house, set fire to them, and retired some distance into the darkness. The noise of the crackling fire awoke Agrestides, who shouted to his master to escape, and was attempting to put out the kindling fire, when he was stricken through the heart by a Persian arrow. The cry of Agrestides awoke his lord. Half choked by the smoke from burning leaves and wood, he rose, and sought his sword in vain. Then at one bound he cleared the smoke and flames. Unclothed, he stood before the assassins like a deity in wrath. At the sight of the dead body of his faithful follower he uttered a cry as of a god in pain. His figure stood out against the flames behind him. He rushed upon an unseen enemy. The murderers fled at sight of him, but one of them, hiding behind a stunted bush, aimed a dart which struck him fatally. He fell. The place where he was lying faded from his view. He was a boy again wandering by the Ilissos. He heard the festal music, as, crowned with violets, he led a joyous crew along the streets of Athens. He fancied he was bringing home his bride, as he had done on the happy marriage day. He was standing in the tribune on the Pnyx, ten thousand faces turned to him, with voices hushed. He saw his swift steeds at Olympia bear his chariot on to victory. He saw the _Eros_ garlanded with roses moving slowly to the stroke of oars as the crowd called out their farewell to him from the shore. He was fighting once more at Kyzikos; Spartans and Persians fled before him. He heard the loud pæans of his victorious soldiers. He stood again upon the deck of the Eros as she entered the Peiræus; the people thronged about him shouting their welcome in his ears, and strewed their flowers at his feet. He saw his mother and his son—then all grew dark. And there he lay, far, far from home, his proud thoughts, his high hopes, his great ambition, like his friends, all gone! Gone, too, was his anger. The furrows which in the last two years had begun to mark his brow were gone. The old exceeding loveliness, the air of high-bred dignity remained, and was as splendidly conspicuous as ever. A smile of peace and triumph was upon his face, as though, beyond these shadows, he had already met old Aiakos, his ancestor, and was rejoiced to behold him. There he lay, watched over by Timandra. THE END J. BAKER AND SON, PRINTERS, CLIFTON ------------------------------------------------------------------------