Petosiris was not yet taken, nor was he far in advance; he was every minute in danger of being reached, and had only so much the advantage of the course, as it was reasonable to suppose an unarmed man would have over one who was in armour. In this manner they twice circled the walls; but the third time Thyamis approached near enough to threaten the back of his brother with his spear. He called on him to stop and turn, if he would avoid receiving a wound; the multitude meanwhile upon the walls, as in a theatre, being spectators and judges of the contest. Just at this instant, either the interposition of the Deity, or the caprice of Fortune, who rules the affairs of men, introduced an episode upon the stage, and supplied, as if out of rivalry, a beginning for another drama. Calasiris, who had submitted to a voluntary exile, and had supported innumerable perils, both by sea and land, in order to avoid the dreadful sight, was brought to the spot at that very hour, and compelled by inevitable fate to become a witness of the encounter of his sons, as the oracle had long ago foretold he should be. As soon as he arrived near enough to see what was passing under the walls of Memphis--when he recognised his children, recollected the prophecy, and saw the arms of one of them raised against the other, he hastened with greater speed than his age seemed to admit of, (doing violence to his weight of years), to prevent the dreaded issue of the combat. Having nearly reached them, he exclaimed with all his might--"My children! what mean you? what madness is this!" They, intent on what they were themselves engaged in, did not recognise their father, covered as he was with beggar's weeds, but took him for some wandering vagrant, who was probably beside himself. Those who were on the walls, wondered at his so rashly exposing himself between the combatants. Others laughed at what they thought his mad and fruitless efforts. When the good old man perceived that he was not known under these mean garments, he cast aside the tatters under which he was disguised; let his sacred locks flow down upon his shoulders, threw away his scrip and staff, and stood before them with a reverend and priest-like aspect; gently inclining his body, and stretching out his hands as a suppliant: his tears flowed apace, while he exclaimed--"O my sons, I am Calasiris--I am your father--stay your hands--repress your fatal rage--receive, acknowledge, and reverence your parent."