Thus it tapered away. “Ha, ha!” cried Piko, “how they prick their ears at that!” “Hark ye, my invincibles!” cried Hello. “That pean is for the slain. So all ye who have lives left, spring to it! Die and be glorified! Now’s the time!—Strike up again, my ducklings!” Thus incited, the survivors staggered to their feet; and hammering away at each others’ sconces, till they rung like a chime of bells going off with a triple-bob-major, they finally succeeded in immortalizing themselves by quenching their mortalities all round; the bards still singing. “Never mind your music now,” cried Piko. “It’s all over,” said Hello. “What valiant fellows we have for subjects,” cried Piko. “Ho! grave-diggers, clear the field,” cried Hello. “Who else is for glory?” cried Piko. “There stand the bards!” cried Hello. But now there rushed among the crowd a haggard figure, trickling with blood, and wearing a robe, whose edges were burned and blacked by fire. Wielding a club, it ran to and fro, with loud yells menacing all. A noted warrior this; who, distracted at the death of five sons slain in recent games, wandered from valley to valley, wrestling and fighting. With wild cries of “The Despairer! The Despairer!” the appalled multitude fled; leaving the two kings frozen on their throne, quaking and quailing, their teeth rattling like dice. The Despairer strode toward them; when, recovering their senses, they ran; for a time pursued through the woods by the phantom. CHAPTER XXXVII. Taji Still Hunted, And Beckoned Previous to the kings’ flight, we had plunged into the neighboring woods; and from thence emerging, entered brakes of cane, sprouting from morasses. Soon we heard a whirring, as if three startled partridges had taken wing; it proved three feathered arrows, from three unseen hands. Gracing us, two buried in the ground, but from Taji’s arm, the third drew blood. On all sides round we turned; but none were seen. “Still the avengers follow,” said Babbalanja. “Lo! the damsels three!” cried Yoomy. “Look where they come!” We joined them by the sumach-wood’s red skirts; and there, they waved their cherry stalks, and heavy bloated cactus leaves, their crimson blossoms armed with nettles; and before us flung shining, yellow, tiger-flowers spotted red. “Blood!” cried Yoomy, starting, “and leopards on your track!” And now the syrens blew through long reeds, tasseled with their panicles, and waving verdant scarfs of vines, came dancing toward us, proffering clustering grapes. “For all now yours, Taji; and all that yet may come,” cried Yoomy, “fly to me! I will dance away your gloom, and drown it in inebriation.” “Away! woe is its own wine. What may be mine, that will I endure, in its own essence to the quick. Let me feel the poniard if it stabs.” They vanished in the wood; and hurrying on, we soon gained sun-light, and the open glade. CHAPTER XXXVIII. They Embark From Diranda