Chariclea was pleased with the proposal; and they agreed, if they were divided, to write upon any temple, noted statue, bust of Mercury,[4] or boundary-stone, Theagenes the word Pythicus, and Chariclea Pythias; whether they were gone to the right or the left; to what city, town, or people; and the day and hour of their writing. If they met in any circumstances, or under any disguise, they depended upon their mutual affection to discover one another, which they were certain no time could efface, or even lessen. Chariclea, however, showed him the ring which had been exposed with her, and Theagenes exhibited a scar made upon his knee by a wild boar. They agreed on a watch-word: she, _lampas_ (a lamp), he, _phoinix_ (a palm-tree). Having made these arrangements, they again embraced each other, and again wept, pouring out their tears as libations, and using kisses as oaths. At last they went out of the cave, touching none of the treasures it contained, thinking riches obtained by plunder an abomination. They selected, however, some of the richest jewels which they themselves had brought from Delphi, and which the pirates had taken from them, and prepared for their journey. Chariclea changed her dress, packing up in a bundle her necklace, her crown, and sacred garments; and, the better to conceal them, put over them things of less value. She gave the bow and quiver (the emblems of the god under whom he served) to Theagenes to bear: to him a pleasant burden. They now approached the lake, and were preparing to get into a boat, when they saw a company of armed men passing over toward the island. Rendered dizzy by the sight, they stood for some time astounded, as if deprived of all feeling by the continued assaults of unwearied evil fortune. At last, however, and just as the men were landing, Chariclea proposed to retire again into the cave, and endeavour to conceal themselves there; and was running towards it, when Theagenes stopped her, and exclaimed, "Why should we vainly endeavour to fly from that fate which pursues us every where? Let us yield to our fortune, and meet it with fortitude: what besides should we gain but unending troubles, a wandering life, and still renewed assaults of the evil genius who mocks and persecutes us? Have you not experienced how he has added, with savage eagerness, the assaults of pirates to exile, and worse perils by land to those we suffered by sea; how he terrified us first with fightings, afterwards threw us into the hands of buccaneers, detained us some time in captivity, then left us solitary and deserted, just gave us a prospect of flight and freedom, and now sends ruffians to destroy us; plays off his warfare against us and our fortunes, and gives them the appearance of a continually shifting scene, and sadly varied drama? Let us put an end then to the tragedy, and give ourselves up to those who are prepared for our destruction, lest the continued