the ether has said--


"'He either fears his fate too much,
Or his deserts are small,
Who will not put it to the touch,
To win or lose it all.'

It seems to me you must either bustle and fight again, or sit tamely
down, and by paying the coward's fee for peace, buy at heavy price,
indulgence from the victor."

"We," said An simply, and with no show of shame, "would rather die
than fight, and so we take the easier way, though a heavy one it is.
Look!" she said, drawing me to the broad window whence we could get
a glimpse of the westward town and the harbour out beyond the walls.
"Look! see yonder long row of boats with brown sails hanging loose reefed
from every yard ranged all along the quay. Even from here you can make
out the thin stream of porter slaves passing to and fro between them and
the granaries like ants on a sunny path. Those are our tax-men's ships,
they came yesterday from far out across the sea, as punctual as fate
with the first day of spring, and two or three nights hence we trust
will go again: and glad shall we be to see them start, although they
leave scupper deep with our cloth, our corn, and gold."

"Is that what they take for tribute?"

"That and one girl--the fairest they can find."

"One--only one! 'Tis very moderate, all things considered."