But Philetos, turning his back on the advancing hosts, clasped his friend by the hand, and in a ringing voice said—
“Shake off thy terror; look out on the plains beneath; seest thou not the sun smiling on the forests?—hearest thou not the cries of the wild animals? Let us away and hunt, and forget this horror; see, all nature smiles, and mocks at the curse.”
But that other answered in a melancholy voice—
“Compared with mine, thy sight is dim, and thine ears are dull; but seest thou not that black cloud arising?—hearest thou not the gathering storm?”
But Philetos answered—“Truly there is a cloud, but we shall hunt the more pleasantly; and what is rain in its season?”
“Speak no more,” answered his friend; “but if thou canst not read the meaning of the storm, look over the abyss and tell me what thou seest in the poisonous lake.”
Philetos darted to the edge of the abyss and recoiled in horror.
“I see,” he said, “a huge monster with gaping jaws, rearing his snaky folds out from the mire; and its eyes are like the eyes of men that hate, and it hisses death and misery. Let us flee—let us flee!”
“Alas!” replied the Egyptian, “thou hast clasped my hand, and thou too must die, and suffer torment with me; say thou dost not hate me—say thou wilt not curse me when we two shall be deep in horror.”
Philetos looked once more on the monster, which had now reared its slimy head above the precipice, and he read his doom in its vengeful eyes. But he quailed not, but pressing the hand of his friend, cried—