th the antagonists were now locked in each other's
grasp--the hand of each seeking the throat of the other--the face drawn
back--the fierce eyes flashing--the muscles strained--the veins
swelled--the lips apart--the teeth set--both were strong beyond the
ordinary power of men, both animated by relentless wrath; they coiled,
they wound, around each other; they rocked to and fro--they swayed from
end to end of their confined arena--they uttered cries of ire and
revenge--they were now before the altar--now at the base of the column
where the struggle had commenced: they drew back for breath--Arbaces
leaning against the column--Glaucus a few paces apart.

'O ancient goddess!' exclaimed Arbaces, clasping the column, and raising
his eyes toward the sacred image it supported, 'protect thy
chosen--proclaim they vengeance against this thing of an upstart creed,
who with sacrilegious violence profanes thy resting-place and assails
thy servant.'

As he spoke, the still and vast features of the goddess seemed suddenly
to glow with life; through the black marble, as through a transparent
veil, flushed luminously a crimson and burning hue; around the head
played and darted coruscations of livid lightning; the eyes became like
balls of lurid fire, and seemed fixed in withering and intolerable wrath
upon the countenance of the Greek. Awed and appalled by this sudden and
mystic answer to the prayer of his foe, and not free from the hereditary
superstitions of his race, the cheeks of Glaucus paled before that
strange and ghastly animation of the marble--his knees knocked
together--he stood, seized with a divine panic, dismayed, aghast, half
unmanned before his foe! Arbaces gave him not breathing time to recover
his stupor: 'Die, wretch!' he shouted, in a voice of thunder, as he
sprang upon the Greek; 'the Mighty Mother claims thee as a living
sacrifice!' Taken thus by surprise in the first consternation of his
superstitious fears, the Greek lost his footing--the marble floor was as
smooth as glass--he slid--he fell. Arbaces planted his foot on the
breast of his fallen foe. Apaecides, taught by his sacred profession,
as well as by his knowledge of Arbaces, to distrust all miraculous
interpositions, had not shared the dismay of his companion; he rushed
forward--his knife gleamed in the air--the watchful Egyptian caught his
arm as it descended--one wrench of his powerful hand tore the weapon
from the weak grasp of the priest--one sweepin