"These fellows are as proud as priests," said Dion. "They will ask nothing of us, and will thank us for nothing we give." "He poses like the statue of a god I once saw in Cyprus," commented Agathocles. "They had just dug it up out of the mud, and hadn't scraped it." "Don't go near him," replied Dion. "His filth doubtless has wings. Yet it is well to give him a stater. He is supposed to mumble a blessing, and I need one." Dion advanced toward the man, and put his hand into his bosom to draw his purse. The beggar sprang upon him with a cry of fury. "At last I have you, you damned whelp of Shattuck!" He drew a knife from beneath his dirty sheep-skin, and aimed a blow at the breast of Dion. The thrust had surely done its intended work, but for the quick evasion of the practised soldier. Before the wretch could repeat the blow Dion had closed with him, grasped the uplifted arm with his left hand, and with a dexterous wrench bent his assailant until his head and heels nearly touched; then laid him on the ground. Agathocles started to help. He was instantly confronted by another person who darted from behind a great olive-tree. But the General had drawn his sword. The villain, though armed with a dagger, dared not venture the encounter. He turned to flee; but the weapon of Agathocles was through his body. Dion stood a moment over the beggar he had felled. "What madness is this?" he asked. "Kill the wretch," cried Agathocles. "Nay, father, my sword would not drink such foul blood." They tied the wrists of the living man with the stout cords of his beggar's basket. "Why this assault?" asked Dion. "Were you mad with hunger?" "Aye, hunger for you," replied the man. "Who are you?" asked Dion. "The scar on your forehead knows me, if you do not. But for the man you have just buried, you had never had tongue to ask who I am." "I ought to know this man's face," said Agathocles, studying him closely. "For years I have seen these eyes, like those of a panther as it slinks away from one it dares not attack. In Alexandria, in Macedon, in Rome, I have seen these same eyes spying on me. Let me squeeze his secret out of him." The General's hands were upon the man's throat. "I am Cleon. Do you know me now?" gasped the wretch. "Cleon? There was a Cleon in Alexandria, a vile procurer for the beastly Ptolemy. Yes, those eyes are Cleon's, as sure as ever snake owned his. But I never harmed you, Cleon. Why do you pursue me?" "You lie!" wheezed the man. "You were always in my way. You call me a snake. Well! have you not both writhed when I bit you? You, Dion, have drunk my poison; and the great Agathocles was in the mines in Sicily, where I--I--Cleon sent him. I have had my vengeance. Now take yours."