nt to go. For some little time
after the rippling of the river had reached their ears the dog struck
off to the right up a very gradual slope apparently quite free from
trees, keeping on for nearly an hour, before he stopped short, uttering
a low, deep growl, while as it rose in the silence the driver checked
the ponies, just as a sharp, low whispering of voices came from their
front, and then there was silence again, while Marcus and Serge stood
together in the chariot, hand clasped in hand.

CHAPTER THIRTY.

WHAT SERGE THOUGHT.

The silence seemed to be awful to the listeners, who were prepared to
give the word for the ponies to dash away as soon as the approach they
expected commenced.

"Our people?" whispered Marcus at last, with his lips close to Serge's
ear.

"No," was whispered back, and the next moment there was the heavy
trampling of feet, but not towards them; and they had proof directly
that they were no friends by the strange yell of defiance which suddenly
rang out in response to a challenge given in the unmistakable Roman
tongue.

"Oh!" whispered Marcus, excitedly. "Our people, and so near! We must
go forward now."

"No, not yet, boy. Hark! Yonder are our people speaking out, and the
fight is beginning."

"A night attack," whispered Marcus, hoarsely, and with his heart beating
heavily.

"Yes, boy, and as far as I can make out the hill and camp have been
surrounded. Now, then, the darkness may prove to be our friend. What
do you say? Shall we try to join our people, or fall back till morning,
when we can see what is best for us to do?"

"Try and join the army," said Marcus, firmly. "If the hill is
surrounded we shall be getting into fresh danger by attempting to fall
back."

"Yes," said Serge, in a low, deep voice, and no further word was
uttered. Lupe gave vent to an impatient growl, and the ponies from time
to time stamped uneasily as if eager to advance, while away to right and
left rose, all the more horrible for the darkness, the clash of arms and
roar of voices, mingled with the loud braying of trumpets, followed by
the responsive shouts of the soldiery. There were moments when the tide
of battle seemed to flow in the direction of the chariot, but only to be
beaten back and sway to and fro.

Then, Marcus never afterwards knew how it happened--all he could recall
was a fragment or two of their situation--Serge had just almost shouted
in his ear, having to raise his voic