Tighter and tighter grew the pressure around his neck.

And now Artemisia sprang up, and flew like a tiny tigress to her lover's assistance, and caught at her tormentor's hands, tearing them with her white little teeth, and pulling the enveloping mantle closer and closer.

The contest could only have one end.

Ere long, Pratinas was lying on the floor, bound hand and foot with strings of torn clothing, and his head still muffled in the toga.

Agias, victorious, but with not a whole rag on his back, rose from his contest.
"Sesostris! help him!" cried Artemisia, trying in vain to get some response from the motionless form by the bench.