oistened by the great drops of sweat, the result of this Herculean
struggle.

"More and more intense waxed the excitement of the spectators, deeper
and deeper the silence, rarer the cries of encouragement, and louder
the groans of the wrestlers. At last Lysander's strength gave way.
Immediately a thousand voices burst forth to cheer him on. He roused
himself and made one last superhuman effort to throw his adversary:
but it was too late. Milo had perceived the momentary weakness. Taking
advantage of it, he clasped the youth in a deadly embrace; a full black
stream of blood welled from Lysander's beautiful lips, and he sank
lifeless to the earth from the wearied arms of the giant. Democedes, the
most celebrated physician of our day, whom you Samians will have known
at the court of Polycrates, hastened to the spot, but no skill could now
avail the happy Lysander,--he was dead.

"Milo was obliged to forego the victor's wreath"; and the fame of this
youth will long continue to sound through the whole of Greece.

[By the laws of the games the wrestler, whose adversary died, had no
right to the prize of victory.]

I myself would rather be the dead Lysander, son of Aristomachus, than
the living Kallias growing old in inaction away from his country.
Greece, represented by her best and bravest, carried the youth to his
grave, and his statue is to be placed in the Altis by those of Milo of
Crotona and Praxidamas of AEgina". At length the heralds proclaimed the
sentence of the judges: 'To Sparta be awarded a victor's wreath for the
dead, for the noble Lysander hath been vanquished, not by Milo, but by
Death, and he who could go forth unconquered from a two hours' struggle
with the strongest of all Greeks, hath well deserved the olive-branch.'"

Here Kallias stopped a moment in his narrative. During his animated
description of these events, so precious to every Greek heart, he had
forgotten his listeners, and, gazing into vacancy, had seen only the
figures of the wrestlers as they rose before his remembrance. Now, on
looking round, he perceived, to his astonishment, that the grey-haired
man with the wooden leg, whom he had already noticed, though without
recognizing him, had hidden his face in his hands and was weeping.
Rhodopis was standing at his right hand. Phanes at his left, and the
other guests were gazing at the Spartan, as if he had been the hero of
Kallias's tale. In a moment the quick Athenian perceived that the