his conclusion.

"Seize the Barbarian thief!" had been his shout as he leaped and snatched
the alleged culprit's mantle. The boy escaped easily by the frailness of
his dress, which tore in the merchant's hands; but a score of bystanders
seized the fugitive and dragged him back to the Sicyonian, whose order to
"search!" would have been promptly obeyed; but at this instant he stumbled
over the missing lamp on the ground before the table, whence probably it
had fallen. The bronze-dealer was now mollified, and would willingly have
released the lad, but a Spartan bystander was more zealous.

"Here's a Barbarian thief and spy!" he began bellowing; "he dropped the
lamp when he was detected! Have him to the temple and to the wardens of
the games!"

The magic word "spy" let loose the tongues and passions of every man
within hearing. The unfortunate lad was seized again and jostled rudely,
while questions rattled over him like hailstones.

"Whose slave are you? Why here? Where's your master? Where did you get
that outlandish dress and gold-laced turban? Confess, confess,--or it'll be
whipped out of you! What villany are you up to?"

If the prisoner had understood Greek,--which was doubtful,--he could scarce
have comprehended this babel. He struggled vainly; tears started to his
eyes. Then he committed a blunder. Not attempting a protest, he thrust a
small hand into his crimson belt and drew forth a handful of gold as bribe
for release.

"A slave with ten darics!" bawled the officious Spartan, never relaxing
his grip. "Hark you, friends, it's plain as day. Dexippus of Corinth has a
Syrian lad like this. The young scoundrel's robbed his master and is
running away."

"That's it! A runaway! To the temple with him!" chimed a dozen. The
prisoner's outcries were drowned. He would have been swept off in ungentle
custody had not a strong hand intervened in his favor.

"A moment, good citizens," called a voice in clear Attic. "Release this
lad. I know Dexippus's slave; he's no such fellow."

The others, low-browed Spartans mostly, turned, ill-pleased at the
interruption of an Athenian, but shrank a step as a name went among them.

"Castor and Pollux--it's Glaucon the Beautiful!"

With two thrusts of impetuous elbows, the young man was at the assailed
lad's side. The newcomer was indeed a sight for gods. Beauty and power
seemed wholly met in a figure of perfect symmetry and strength. A face of
fine regularity, a chiselled profi