, so that it split
asunder where the plume was attached, and fell in pieces from the head
of the wearer.

But alas! that head remained uninjured, while the axe, descending with
such force on the metal, broke off at the handle. For a moment the
Tribune stood as if stupefied by the blow. But he saw immediately how
his opponent, now quite defenceless, did not turn his face for flight,
but still stood before him.

With a wild, yelling, tiger-like shriek, in which thirst for blood and
joy of revenge sounded harshly together, he let his shield slip down,
raised the short, broad Roman sword for a blow, and with the cry,
"Felicitas is mine!" sprang on the German.

At that first outcry, Liuthari quickly bent forward, slightly raising
the heel of his left foot, and seized one of the marble slabs lying
before him; and now, first swinging it high above his head, with the
cry "Felicitas!" he hurled it with a good aim against the helmetless
forehead of the Tribune, as he sprang towards him.

Hoarsely groaning, clashing in his armour, the assailant fell
backwards; the sword escaped from his hand.

Already Liuthari knelt on his breast, seized the blade, and raised it
to force it into his throat.

But he breathed no more--he was dead. Liuthari rising, threw the sword
aside, and looked proudly on the three slain enemies.

"For Felicitas!" said he. "Now to her. I think--I have deserved it."

He knelt down by the running stream, washed the smarting, still
bleeding wound of his right arm, tore some broad strips from the linen
mantle of the dead centurion, bound them firmly around the wound, and
then trod with a light, elastic step the long path through the garden,
back to the house.

CHAPTER XIX.

Having reached it he pushed carefully aside the yellow curtain of the
outer door, letting the moonlight fall into the dark room.

At the entrance to the sleeping-room, before its red curtain, lay
Haduwalt, snoring; by him, lying on its side, empty, was the amphora.
Lightly, on tip-toe and with a beating heart, the young man advanced
and cautiously divided the two halves of the red curtain. He then
perceived, with a smile, the cunning arrangement of the thread; it was
still fastened to the leathern belt of the guard; but the hand of the
sleeper had opened; the ball lay on a stool by her couch. With a wide
stride Liuthari stepped across the old man into the sleeping-room.

Above the head of the be