Then as his blows followed each other more slowly, and at last his wearied arms could no longer wield the heavy stake, and he found himself compelled to sink on his knees, a hoarse voice addressed him thus: "You have taken my comrade's life, Roman, and a two-legged serpent has stung you for it.

In a quarter of an hour it will be all over with you, as it is with that fellow there.

Why does a fine gentleman like you go to keep an appointment in the desert without boots or sandals, and so make our work so easy?
King Euergetes and your friend Eulaeus send you their greetings.

You owe it to them that I leave you even your ready money; I wish I could only carry away that dead lump there!" During this rough speech Serapion was lying on the ground in great agony; he could only clench his fists, and groan out heavy curses with his lips which were now getting parched.

His sight was as yet undimmed, and he could distinctly see by the light of the moon, which now shone forth from a broad cloudless opening in the sky, that the murderer attempted to carry away his fallen comrade, and then, after raising his head to listen for a moment sprang off with flying steps away into the desert.