pping down hill and carrying him with it, thus compelling
him to find a new hold with hand and foot. At last he was standing on the
outer border of the sphinx-avenue and opposite the very shrine where he
fancied he had seen her whom he sought; but during his clamber it had
become perfectly dark again, for a heavy cloud had once more veiled the
moon. He put both hands to his mouth, and shouted as loud as he could,
"Klea!"--and then again, "Klea!"

Then, close at his feet he heard a rustle in the sand, and saw a figure
moving before him as though it had risen out of the ground. This could
not be Klea, it was a man--still, perhaps, he might have seen his
darling--but before he had time to address him he felt the shock of a
heavy blow that fell with tremendous force on his back between his
shoulders. The assassin's sand-bag had missed the exact spot on the nape
of the neck, and Serapion's strongly-knit backbone would have been able
to resist even a stronger blow.

The conviction that he was attacked by robbers flashed on his
consciousness as immediately as the sense of pain, and with it the
certainty that he was a lost man if he did not defend himself stoutly.

Behind him he heard another rustle in the sand. As quickly as he could he
turned round with an exclamation of "Accursed brood of vipers!" and with
his heavy staff he fell upon the figure before him like a smith beating
cold iron, for his eye, now more accustomed to the darkness, plainly saw
it to be a man. Serapion must have hit straight, for his foe fell at his
feet with a hideous roar, rolled over and over in the sand, groaning and
panting, and then with one shrill shriek lay silent and motionless.

The recluse, in spite of the dim light, could see all the movements of
the robber he had punished so severely, and he was bending over the
fallen man anxiously and compassionately when he shuddered to feel two
clammy hands touching his feet, and immediately after two sharp pricks in
his right heel, which were so acutely painful that he screamed aloud, and
was obliged to lift up the wounded foot. At the same time, however, he
did not overlook the need to defend himself. Roaring like a wounded bull,
cursing and raging, he laid about him on all sides with his staff, but
hit nothing but the ground. Then as his blows followed each other more
slowly, and at last his wearied arms could no longer wield the heavy
stake, and he found himself compelled to sink on his knees, a ho