'Place this at thy side; staunch the blood, that it may not track
thee. Now begone!'

"The Helot looked hard at me, and I thought there were tears in his
rude eyes; then catching up the club with as much ease as I this
staff, he sped with inconceivable rapidity, despite his wound, towards
the precipice on the right, and disappeared amidst the thick brambles
that clothed the gorge. In a few moments three of my companions
approached. They found me exhausted, and panting rather with
excitement than fatigue. Their quick eyes detected the blood upon the
ground. I gave them no time to pause and examine. 'He has escaped
me--he has fled,' I cried; 'follow,' and I led them to the opposite
part of the precipice from that which the Helot had taken. Heading the
search, I pretended to catch a glimpse of the goatskin ever and anon
through the trees, and I stayed not the pursuit till night grew dark,
and I judged the victim was far away."

"And he escaped?"

"He did. The crypteia ended. Three other Helots were slain, but not
by me. We returned to Sparta, and my mother was comforted for my
misfortune in not having slain my foe by seeing the stains on my
grandsire's sword, I will tell thee a secret, Gongylus"--(and here
Pausanias lowered his voice, and looked anxiously toward him)---"since
that day I have not hated the Helot race. Nay, it may be that I have
loved them better than the Dorian."

"I do not wonder at it; but has not your wounded giant yet met with
his death?"