"But my condition means certain death," she cried. "Nothing in this life is certain," they said, "save death in the end. If it come soon or late, what matter? For thy sake we are willing to face it now." Thus was she forced to keep her word, and the lists were made ready for the race, and the lots were cast among the suitors as to which of them should be the first to run against her. In the early morning, before the sun was strong, the race was run, and all the city crowded to the course to watch it. The man ran well and bravely, but his speed was as child's play to Atalanta. She put forth her strength like a greyhound that is content to run for a while before the horses, but when he scents a hare, can leave them far behind. Even so did Atalanta run, and came in cool and fresh at the goal, whilst her rival ran in hot and panting behind her. Thus did it come to pass that the first man drank the poison-cup because of his love for Atalanta. With a smiling face did he drink it, as a man drinks at a feast. "Farewell, lady," he said; "grieve not for me. With open eyes I chose my fate. I ran for the sake of love and beauty, and I have won death. Such is ever the lot of the nameless many. They fight for the glory of the man whose name shall live. Good luck to my rival!" And now a time of darkness and mourning fell upon the land, and many a day in the year the city was hung with black for the sake of some noble suitor who had chosen death rather than life without Atalanta. And Atalanta's heart was sore within her, because of the rash condition she had made in her ignorance. When she would fain have recalled her words it was too late, for the suitors bound her to her promise. "Either give thyself of thine own free will to one of us, or else let us take our chance of winning thee or death," they said. And so she was forced to run with them. For in her heart she knew that even death was happier for a man than to win her without her love. Thus were the words of Artemis fulfilled when she said, "In time she shall return to her own folk, and bring joy and sorrow to their hearts." One day it chanced that a stranger came to the city on a morning that a race was to be run. The night before he had slept in a village near by, and the people had told him the tale of Atalanta, and how on the morrow another suitor was to run to his death. But he scoffed at their words. "No man would run to certain death," he said, "were the maid as fair as Aphrodite." "Go and see for thyself," they replied. "Soon we shall hear that thou too wilt run in the race." "Never," he said; "no woman can cheat my life from me." But they shook their heads unconvinced. "Many before thee have spoken likewise," said they, "and yet they have run." "If I run, I will run to win," he answered. "Can a snail outstrip a deer?" they asked. "It might so chance," said he. "Thou art mad," they cried. "Better to be mad on earth than sane in Hades," he replied.