pon whom she could rely--an Italian uncorrupted
by Capuan luxury, a worthy descendant of the rugged Samnite stock, a
Roman in all but name; and now he was snatched away, a prisoner in the
hands of enemies who knew nothing of mercy. Still, he had approved of
her design; had seen in it the possibility of success; and there was at
least a consolation in the thought that, without friends or allies, no
one but herself would now be cognizant of the fulfilment of her
impending degradation.

Another hour had passed; into Marcia's mind had come the calmness of a
fixed resolve. Calavius still moaned and cried out his measured "Aei!
aei!"

Suddenly a tumult of noises sounded from the street: the approaching
murmur of a multitude, the footsteps of men, shouts of applause, cries
of wonder or warning, and sharp words of command.

Ah! the end was near, now. Calavius began to imagine himself
stretching out his neck to the sword, and he sought, by proclaiming his
willingness and welcome, to stay the chilling of his blood, the
trembling of his lips and hands.

Staves were beating upon the outer door; the hum of voices in the
street rose and fell and rose again.

"Open the door, Phoenix," mumbled Calavius, as he rocked and swayed.
"Open the door and let them enter. I am an old man. My son is dead.
What matters a few years of life? I pray to the gods that the
barbarians may not hack me. You shall see how easy I will make it--if
they have but a sharp sword." Suddenly he sprang to his feet and
grasped Marcia's arm. "They will not scourge me? Surely they will not
scourge me? I am a senator and the friend of Carthage!--will the door
hold? Hasten, my daughter; run and tell me whether they are guarding
the street in the rear--before the tradesmen's gate."

The beating upon the door still continued, with short intermissions,
and Marcia surmised that the porter was probably skulking in the attic
with his fellow-slaves. Calavius had turned suddenly from the depths
of despair and the height of resignation to a keen desire for life. He
had hurried away to seek for some unguarded exit, heedless, for the
moment, of what even Marcia fully realized: the utter impossibility of
a man so well known escaping unaided through a hostile city and without
a friendly land whereto to turn his flight. He had left her standing
in the court, to be a first prey of the assailants, whether Capuans or
Carthaginians, and she reasoned that it would be