ugh him the island race would be ennobled in the
eyes of gods and men.

Troops were filing fast to the east--Thebans, Corinthians. "Time
flies, Islander," said the King's voice. "The hours of safety are
slipping past." Atta looked up carelessly. "I will stay," he said.
"God's curse on all Hellenes! Little I care for your quarrels. It is
nothing to me if your Hellas is under the heels of the East. But I
care much for brave men. It shall never be said that a man of Lemnos,
a son of the old race, fell back when Death threatened. I stay with
you, men of Lacedaemon."

The King's eyes glittered; they seemed to peer into his heart.

"It appears they breed men in the islands," he said. "But you err.
Death does not threaten. Death awaits us.

"It is all one," said Atta. "But I crave a boon. Let me fight my last
fight by your side. I am of older stock than you, and a king in my own
country. I would strike my last blow among kings."

There was an hour of respite before battle was joined, and Atta spent
it by the edge of the sea. He had been given arms, and in girding
himself for the fight he had found Apollo's offering in his breastfold.
He was done with the gods of the Hellenes. His offering should go to
the gods of his own people. So, calling upon Poseidon, he flung the
little gold cup far out to sea. It flashed in the sunlight, and then
sank in the soft green tides so noiselessly that it seemed as if the
hand of the Sea-god had been stretched to take it. "Hail, Poseidon!"
the Lemnian cried. "I am bound this day for the Ferryman. To you only
I make prayer, and to the little Hermes of Larisa. Be kind to my kin
when they travel the sea, and keep them islanders and seafarers for
ever. Hail and farewell, God of my own folk!"

Then, while the little waves lapped on the white sand, Atta made a
song. He was thinking of the homestead far up in the green downs,
looking over to the snows of Samothrace. At this hour in the morning
there would be a tinkle of sheep-bells as the flocks went down to the
low pastures. Cool wind would be blowing, and the noise of the surf
below the cliffs would come faint to the ear. In the hall the maids
mould be spinning, while their dark-haired mistress would be casting
swift glances to the doorway, lest it might be filled any moment by the
form of her returning lord. Outside in the chequered sunlight of the
orchard the child would be playing with his nurse, crooning in child