"Got all you want to say ready?" whispered Serge.

"Yes," whispered back Marcus. "Oh, if he would only be quick! This is
all wasting time."

The young officer was quick enough, for he returned directly, and his
manner seemed changed as he stepped up to the chariot.

"Follow me, sir," he said. "The generals will see you directly."

Marcus' heart beat quicker than ever now, as he sprang from the chariot,
wincing slightly from his stiffness, while Serge limped and screwed up
his face as he strove in vain to hold himself erect.

It was bright with the early sunshine outside the tent, where Marcus now
found himself face to face with a stern-looking man in the dress of a
general, who sat with his hand resting upon his helmet.

But he was not alone, for another officer was lying upon a rough couch,
evidently, from his bandaged head, wounded; but he was fully dressed,
and his helmet and sword were upon the rolled-up cloak at the side of
his averted head.

"You are welcome," began the sitting general, warmly. "I have sent for
you to give you the thanks of my injured friend, whose life--Why, what
is this! My severe young friend Marcus here!"

"What!" came from the couch, and its occupant sprang into a sitting
position.

"Father!" cried Marcus, and Serge, who had doffed his helmet, now in his
astonishment let it fall upon the skins which covered the ground with a
heavy thud.

As Marcus spoke he ran to his father's side and sank down upon one knee
to gaze anxiously in his face.

"Are you much hurt?" he said, hoarsely.

"No, no, not much, my boy," said Cracis; "but in the excitement I did
not know you, Marcus. Oh, it seems impossible that you could have been
my preserver!"

"It was more Serge than I, father," cried Marcus, quickly.

"Nay, nay, nay!" growled the old soldier, in his hoarsest tones. "Speak
the truth, boy."

"That is the truth," cried Marcus, quickly.

"I helped, of course, but it was him, master, who made that cut at the
Gaul's spear and knocked him over. But we neither of us knew that it
was you."

"But you, Marcus, my boy," said Cracis, as he gazed wonderingly in his
son's face, while Caius Julius watched them both in turn--"you knew me,
of course?"

"No, father," replied Marcus, whose face was scarlet now with
excitement. "I only saw that it was a Roman officer."

"And you dashed at once to his help," said Caius Julius, smiling.
"Well, it was a brave act then, while now I scarcely k