n, boy," said Julius. "Why, you make
me feel full of confidence in your becoming as brave and great a man as
your father."

"Oh no, sir," replied Marcus, sadly. "No one could be so great and
brave a man as he."

"But you would follow us into the middle of the battle's horrors?"

"Yes, sir, I would indeed; indeed I would," cried Marcus, eagerly.

"I believe you, my boy, and all the more for your simple honesty of
speech."

"And you will prevail upon my father to let me go?" cried Marcus,
appealingly.

"I do not know," said Julius, thoughtfully. "You say that you have
begged hard and your father says that you must stay?"

"Yes," cried Marcus, "but you have the power, sir, and you will speak to
him and tell him that he must take me?" cried Marcus.

Julius shook his head.

"Let me see," he said; "you told me that you would try to be brave."

Marcus felt that his hopes were vain, but he spoke out desperately:

"Yes, I would indeed try to be as brave and firm as I could."

"I know you would, boy, but remember this: it is very brave to be
obedient to those who are in authority over you," said Julius. "A good
son obeys his father, and Cracis has given you his commands to stay
here, has he not?"

"Yes," cried Marcus, desperately; "but I was sure that I could be of the
greatest help."

"I believe that you would try to be," said Julius, gravely; "but, my
boy, I cannot fight for you in this and oppose your father's commands.
Be brave and do your duty here. Put up with the disappointment and
wait. Time flies fast, boy, and you will be a man sooner than you
expect--too soon perhaps for the golden days of youth. No, my boy, I
cannot interfere. You must obey your father's commands."

"Oh," cried Marcus, passionately, "and suppose he is stricken down, to
lie helpless on the field?"

Julius shrugged his shoulders, and at that moment the voice of Cracis
was heard summoning the boy, who turned away hanging his head in his
despair. Marcus turned to meet his father, who looked at him wondering
to see him there, and bringing the colour to the boy's cheeks, so guilty
did he feel, as, with his cloak over his arm, Cracis drew his son to him
to press him to his mailed breast, held out his hand to Serge, and then
strode forward with heavy tread to join his old military companion, who
was now slowly bending over the side of the fountain, into whose clear
surface he kept on lowering the white tips of his fingers so that