round the obelisk or past the Taraxippos, Dada had clutched her head with
her hands and set her teeth in her lip; each time, as he happily steered
clear of the fatal stone and whirled past the dreadful bronze statue, she
had relaxed her grip and leaned back in her seat with a sigh of relief.
Her sympathy made her one with Marcus; she felt as if his loss must be
her death and his victory her personal triumph.

During the sixth circuit Hippias was still a long way ahead of the young
Christian; the distance which lay between Marcus and the team of bays
seemed to have become a fixed quantity, for, do what he could, he could
not diminish it by a hand-breadth. The two agitatores had now completely
altered their tactics; instead of holding their horses in they urged them
onward, leaning over the front of their chariots, speaking to the horses,
Shouting at them with hoarse, breathless cries, and flogging them
unsparingly. Steamy sweat and lathering foam streaked the flanks of the
desperate, laboring brutes, while clouds of dust were flung up from the
dry, furrowed and trampled soil. The other chariots were left further
and further behind those of Hippias and Marcus, and when, for the seventh
and last time, these two were nearing the nyssa, the crowd for a moment
held its breath, only to break out into louder and wilder cries, and then
again to be hushed. It seemed as though their exhausted lungs found
renewed strength to shout with double energy when their excitement had
kept them silent for a while.

Dada spoke no more; pale and gasping, she sat with her eyes fixed on the
tall obelisk and on the cloud of dust which, as the chariots neared the
nyssa, seemed to grow denser. At about a hundred paces from the nyssa
she saw, above the sandy curtain, the red cap of Hippias flash past, and
then--close behind it--the blue cap worn by Marcus. Then a deafening,
thundering roar from thousands of throats went up to heaven, while, round