Those that find lodgment, while his life within
Lies safe, protected, nor doth spear avail
To reach the fount of blood. Unnumbered wounds
By arrow dealt, or lance, thus fail to slay
This single warrior. But lo! from far
A Cretan archer's shaft, more sure of aim
Than vows could hope for, strikes on Scaeva's brow
To light within his eye: the hero tugs
rising, was gradually flooding the cave of the dragon.
his work with quiet efficiency, and once Harley heard him
There came a rap at the door and Miss Smith, the typist,
“He may have heard something to that effect in India.”
the great caravan routes entering the Sahara from the south.
entered. “Miss Phil Abingdon and Doctor McMurdoch,”