but to bid Ariadne an affectionate
farewell, and to go on board the vessel, and set sail.

In a few moments the white foam was boiling up before their prow, as
Prince Theseus and his companions sailed out of the harbor, with
a whistling breeze behind them. Talus, the brazen giant, on his
never-ceasing sentinel's march, happened to be approaching that part of
the coast; and they saw him, by the glimmering of the moonbeams on his
polished surface, while he was yet a great way off. As the figure moved
like clockwork, however, and could neither hasten his enormous strides
nor retard them, he arrived at the port when they were just beyond the
reach of his club. Nevertheless, straddling from headland to headland,
as his custom was, Talus attempted to strike a blow at the vessel,
and, overreaching himself, tumbled at full length into the sea, which
splashed high over his gigantic shape, as when an iceberg turns a
somerset. There he lies yet; and whoever desires to enrich himself by
means of brass had better go thither with a diving bell, and fish up
Talus.

On the homeward voyage, the fourteen youths and damsels were in
excellent spirits, as you will easily suppose. They spent most of their
time in dancing, unless when the sidelong breeze made the deck slope
too much. In due season, they came within sight of the coast of Attica,
which was their native country. But here, I am grieved to tell you,
happened a sad misfortune.

You will remember (what Theseus unfortunately forgot) that his father,
King Aegeus, had enjoined it upon him to hoist sunshiny sails, instead
of black ones, in case he should overcome the Minotaur, and return
victorious. In the joy of their success, however, and amidst the sports,
dancing, and other merriment, with which these young folks wore away the
time, they never once thought whether their sails were black, white, or
rainbow colored, and, indeed, left it entirely to the mariners whether
they had any sails at all. Thus the vessel returned, like a raven, with
the same sable wings that had wafted her away. But poor King Aegeus, day
after day, infirm as he was, had clambered to the summit of a cliff that
overhung the sea, and there sat watching for Prince Theseus, homeward
bound; and no sooner did he behold the fatal blackness of the sails,
than he concluded that his dear son, whom he loved so much, and felt so
proud of, had been eaten by the Minotaur. He could not bear the thought
of living any longer