e river; it sounded on this
side of the stream, out of the mountain forest."

"Making an eyrie there, perhaps."

"It was the _migratory call_. And they migrate in August. And after the
first call there was a second, a third, a fourth answer, till the
sounds died away in the distance."

"The echo from the hills!"

"That is conceivable. But the cry did not come from high in the air; it
came from below, from the ground, up to me on the battlements of the
tower. The heron does not fish at night."

The old man smiled pleasantly. "Do, my Cornelius, believe the old
huntsman. It fishes at night when it has a brood to feed. I have myself
caught one in the morning in the fishing-net which I had set the
evening before."

"But that arrow was winged with the feathers of the--gray heron. And as
often as the heron called, there answered still deeper out of the
eastern forest the shrill cry of the black eagle."

"Accident! And how could the Germans come here from the east? From the
west, from Vindelicia only, could the Alemanni come, who are the
nearest Germans to us. How could they have crossed the river unnoticed,
unless they have wings, like the gray heron himself? Foresight is very
praiseworthy, my young friend, and thou seest I am not wanting in
vigilance. But thou art too anxious; youth and age have exchanged their
_role_, I know," hastened Severus to add, as an angry look flashed
across the handsome face of the young man, "I know Cornelius Ambiorix
is only anxious for Rome, not for himself."

"Why should I be anxious about a life that has no charm and no value?"
asked the other, again composed, and sitting down by the old man. "The
philosophy of the sceptics has destroyed the old gods for us; and I
cannot believe in the Jew of Nazareth. A blind fate guides the world.
Rome--my pride, my dream--sinks, sinks irretrievably."

"Thou errest there," answered the other, quite composed. "I would
to-day throw myself on this sword"--he grasped the weapon which lay
near him on a cushion--"if I shared thy belief. But this sword--it is
inherited from my imperial ancestor, Probus--gives me always fresh
encouragement. Nine German kings knelt before that hero's tent, when he
drew this sword out of the scabbard, and commanded the trembling ones,
according to their own custom, to swear allegiance by the sword. And
they swore it."

"That is long ago."

"And with this sword is also bequeathed in our family the oracular
promise: 'This