little doomed creature, fulfilling his appointed task! Poor little subject of the Child of the Sun, loyal to his creed and crown, and wholly innocent of all evil intent against myself! Very gently did I convey my sharp serviceable hunting blade from its sheath to my mouth, at the same time divesting myself of my heavy mantle of azure silk, which I placed in both hands ready for a dexterous throw in the manner of the _retiarius_ of the Roman amphitheatre. Crouched low like some panther prepared to spring, and armed with dagger and cloak, I waited to commit rank murder, to terminate the life of a fellow-creature with every right to enjoy health and happiness, to turn a wife into a widow, to render her children orphans, to wreck a peaceful home in a doubtful effort to save my own skin. Never did I hate and despise myself more heartily in my earthly career, than I did now at this first desperate stroke for freedom in Meleager. God knows whether after all I might not have shrunk shamefacedly from the loathsome act, had I allowed my thoughts thus to ramble farther in these ethical convolutions of right and wrong. But as I still hesitated, I suddenly observed the unsuspecting soldier deliberately stop, lay aside his spear, and with unconcern kneel down to fasten the loosened thong of his sandal. At such an opportunity some force--was it moral or physical?--impelled me, and with a spring that would have done credit to a young cat-a-mountain, I had leaped on the bending figure whose startled head was swiftly swathed in the thick folds of my royal robe. There was some struggling, as well as faint muffled cries, whilst I tightly clenched the half-smothered head beneath my left arm. I then transferred the dagger from my teeth to my right hand and skilfully inserted the keen blade into my captive's reins. The struggles increased, then relaxed, then faded into a series of convulsive twitchings; till I felt my hand grow wet and warm with the blood I was shedding for my own selfish purpose. Still I continued to hold the knife in its soft fleshy socket, until with a final twisting of the steel in the mode of the Spanish assassin, I slowly withdrew the weapon from the fatal gash. All things appear mercifully of a neutral tint on a moonless night, so that I was spared the chief horror of my ensanguined hands and tunic, for I greatly dislike the sight of blood. I next gently unwound my cloak from the dead man's face, and then dragged the corpse across the path to lay it behind a large clump of agaves. A small pool of stagnant water hard by enabled me to remove the gore from my hands and garments, whilst a neighbouring bank of lush couch grass assisted in the cleansing of my dagger, which I wiped and wiped again before I replaced it in its scabbard. These necessary operations afforded me space to breathe, to recuperate and to reflect.