Felix--"

"If he does not--holy gods!--we shall all be slain and plundered."

And above all, a woman's voice:

"I will not stay to be robbed! I shall leave this house at once!"

In the great court men had gathered about Eudemius and Marius, who held
hasty consultation. Felix, pale, nursing carefully his wounded arm, was
on the outskirts of the group. His face all unconsciously betrayed his
state of mind. It was white and flaccid; and at every yelp of the hounds
outside who clamored for his life, he cringed and quivered. But he was
very quiet, and the talk surged over his head as though he had not been
there. Men cast glances of scorn unveiled upon him, but he was long past
caring what they thought. He wanted his life; his eyes craved
protection. In his face was a desperate dumb reliance on the pride and
honor of Eudemius, which would not allow him to surrender one who had
claimed his hospitality; craven himself, he yet recognized and centred
all his faith upon this stern and scornful pride which must uphold its
traditions at whatever cost.

Several of the younger lords who had been or were then in military
service came forth, offering themselves, not at all averse, it would
seem, to such variation in the entertainment. A handful of drunken
barbarians--what were these? Upon them and upon Marius the defence of
the villa devolved. Marius gave his orders swiftly, and one by one his
lieutenants sped away. All slaves capable of bearing arms were to be
equipped at once from the armory. Men were already stationed at
intervals along the outer walls to guard against surprise. The house
seethed with uproar, which no efforts of discipline could quench. Women
wept and clung together, terrified each by the others' terror. They
huddled in bunches around the walls, catching at every man who would
pause to speak with them. Yes, there had been a barbarian even within
the hall, a great fellow, tall as the house, who spat fire and spoke
Latin as no Roman had ever heard Latin spoken before. Ay, truly, all
the gods might witness that he had spat fire. And then he had left,
taking back to his dogs of comrades their lord's refusal to yield up his
guest. So there would be an attack, and men had many other things to do
than to be stopped and chattered to by foolish women. Mingled always
with the lamentations of these was men's shouting, a trampling of many
feet, a swift confusion. The lights, continually fanned by the passing
of people, beg