And he pointed to two of the bodies which lay side by side before her, with their faces covered. With a cry she drew back the coverings, and gazed upon the faces that she loved so well. As she looked, she saw the wounds that had killed them, and she knew now that it was no wild beast that had slain them, but the hand of man. Drawing herself up to her full height, she looked round on those who stood by, and the gleam of her eyes was terrible to see. “Deceive me no more,” she said, “but tell me how these two came to fall by the hand of man.” “Lady,” said Œneus, “they sought a quarrel with one of our company, and in anger he slew them both.” For a moment she was silent, then in a low voice, yet one that all could hear, she spoke. “My curse be upon him, whosoe’er he be. O Daughters of Destruction, wingless Furies, I bid you track his footsteps night and day. May no roof cover his head nor any man give him food or drink, but let him be a vagabond on the face of the earth till just vengeance overtake him. On thee, Œneus, do I lay this charge, and on my son Meleager, to avenge the death of these my kinsmen, who have been foully slain.” In vain did Œneus try to stop her. She was as one deaf to his entreaties. When she had finished, she looked round for Meleager, and when she could not see him, she cried—“where is my son?” “Lady,” said Œneus, “even now the wingless bearers of thy curse are hunting him through the forest.” For a moment she swayed to and fro as though she would fall. “Ye gods, what have I done?” she muttered. Then with a cry she turned and rushed through the doorway, across the deserted palace to her own chamber, and barring the door behind her, she took from its hiding-place the brand she had kept jealously so long. As on the day when the Fates had come to her, a bright fire was burning on the hearth, and deep into the heart of it she pushed the log with both her hands. “O my son, my son!” she cried; “to think that I should come to this! But though the flame that devours thy life burns out my heart within me, yet must I do it. Thus only can I save thee from my curse. For the word, once spoken, never dies, and the Furies, once aroused, sleep never, night nor day. Wherefore Death alone can give thee peace, O Meleager, my first-born and my dearest.” Œneus meanwhile had followed her, and stood without, asking her to open to him. But she cried out to him: “All is well. I beg thee leave me. I would be alone.” So he left her; and she stood watching the flames slowly eat the wood away, and at last, when the log fell apart in ashes, she sank down upon the floor, and with her son’s life hers too went out for grief.