n his face.

But Hippomenes saw only Atalanta. She came beside her father; the
wreath was upon her head of gold, and her eyes were wide and tender.
She turned her face to him, and then she knew by the wildness that was
in his look that he had come to enter the race with her. Then the flush
that was on her face died away, and she shook her head as if she were
imploring him to go from that place.

The dark-bearded king bent his brows upon him and said, "Speak, O
youth, speak and tell us what brings you here."

Then cried Hippomenes as if his whole life were bursting out with his
words: "Why does this maiden, your daughter, seek an easy renown by
conquering weakly youths in the race? She has not striven yet. Here
stand I, one of the blood of Poseidon, the god of the sea. Should I be
defeated by her in the race, then, indeed, might Atalanta have
something to boast of."

Atalanta stepped forward and said: "Do not speak of it, youth. Indeed I
think that it is some god, envious of your beauty and your strength,
who sent you here to strive with me and to meet your doom. Ah, think of
the youths who have striven with me even now! Think of the hard doom
that is about to fall upon them! You venture your life in the race, but
indeed I am not worthy of the price. Go hence, O stranger youth, go
hence and live happily, for indeed I think that there is some maiden
who loves you well."

"Nay, maiden," said Hippomenes, "I will enter the race and I will
venture my life on the chance of winning you for my bride. What good
will my life and my spirit be to me if they cannot win this race for
me?"

She drew away from him then and looked upon him no more, but bent down
to fasten the sandals upon her feet. And the black-bearded king looked
upon Hippomenes and said, "Face, then, this race to-morrow. You will be
the only one who will enter it. But bethink thee of the doom that
awaits thee at the end of it." The king said no more, and Hippomenes
went from him and from Atalanta, and he came again to the place where
the race had been run.

He looked across the sandy course with its goal marks, and in his mind
he saw again Atalanta's swift race. He would not meet doom at the hands
of the king's soldiers, he knew, for his spirit would leave him with
the greatness of the effort he would make to reach the goal before her.
And he thought it would be well to die in that effort and on that sandy
place that was so far from his own land.

Even as h