ed, and
began to feel her way toward it. The grating of metal against metal
came to her ears, followed by a low exclamation and a sharp "Ah!"
gasped exultantly; then came the sound of two fierce blows.

She had found the lamp now, and was trying to strike a light. The
victory was still undecided, though the combatants seemed to groan with
each breath they drew. At last the wick caught the spark, and the
mellow light and the odour of perfumed oil began slowly to fill the
room. A statuette or vase came crashing to the floor, and, raising the
lamp high above her head, she threw its light upon the struggling men.
For a moment she could make out nothing except a dark mass at her feet.
Then she caught the glitter of a weapon, and at last her eyes grasped
something of the situation.

Iddilcar was undermost. She could see his black, curling beard that
seemed matted and ragged now, while the Roman--the man who bore the
face of the dead Sergius--was extended upon him, grasping, with both
hands, the Carthaginian's wrists. It was the latter who held the blade
that had glittered--a long Numidian dagger, but the hold upon his
wrists prevented his using it, and the Roman dared not release either
hand to wrench it away. There were bruises, too, on Iddilcar's
face--the blows of fists; but the blood on the floor told of some other
wound, doubtless the Roman's, inflicted before he could restrain the
hand that dealt it. Now, neither seemed able to accomplish further
injury, until the strength of one should fail; and if it was her
protector's blood that was flowing?--the thought was ominous. Neither
dared to cry out, for the aid that might come was too doubtful, and,
besides, they needed to husband all the air their lungs could gain.

Marcia saw these things and thought them clearly, quickly, and in
order. Her mind seemed to grow as strangely calm as if busied in
selecting some shade of wool for her distaff. She reached down and, by
a quick movement, twisted the dagger from the stiffened, weary fingers
of the Carthaginian. A cry burst from him--the first since the
triumphant "Ah!" that had doubtless come from his lips when he used the
weapon, a few moments since. He writhed furiously, and Marcia stood,
holding the dagger in her hand, hesitating rather through dread of
injuring this new Sergius that had arisen to aid her.

The Roman, however, seeing himself freed from the necessity of guarding
against the sharp point that ha