when Karnis suddenly dropped the spear he was preparing to fling and fell
without a cry. A Roman lance had hit him, and he lay transfixed by the
side of a living purple fount, like a rock in the surf from which a
sapling has sprung. Orpheus saw his father's life-blood flowing and fell
on his knees by his side; but the old man pointed to the bow that his son
had cast aside and murmured eagerly: "Leave me--let me be. What does it
matter about me? Fight--for the gods--I say. For the gods! Go on, aim
truly!"

But the lad would not leave the dying man, and seeing how deeply the
spear had struck to the old man's heart he groaned aloud, throwing up his
arms in despair. Then an arrow hit his shoulder, another pierced his
neck, and he, too, fell gasping for breath. Karnis saw him drop, and
painfully raised himself a little to help him; but it was too much for
him; he could only clench his fist in helpless fury and chant, half-
singing, half-speaking, as loud he was able, Electra's curse:

"This my last prayer, ye gods, do not disdain!
For them turn day to night and joy to pain!"

But the heavy infantry, who by this time were crowding through the
breach, neither heard nor heeded his curse. He lost consciousness and
did not recover it till Herse, after lifting up her son and propping him
against a plinth, pressed a cloth against the stump of the lance still
remaining in the wound to staunch the swiftly flowing blood, and
sprinkled his brow with wine. He felt her warm tears on his face, and as
he looked up into her kind, faithful eyes, brimming over with tears of
sympathy and regret, his heart melted to tenderness. All the happiest
hours of the life they had spent together crowded on his memory; he
answered her glance with a loving and grateful gaze and painfully held