istory of the world that Rome
hath withheld aid from her sons who needed it, and cast them off to
shift as best they could. And I have lived to see it! I have indeed
lived too long!"

Again heads nodded, gravely and sombrely. Paulus was not alone in his
bitterness. For the first time in the history of the world men stood
aside and watched their country falling into ruins before their eyes
with a swiftness greater in proportion to its mighty length of life than
ever country had fallen before; and it was a bitter sight.

Pomponius, courtly, ever mindful of others, was first to shake off the
gloom to which Paulus had given voice.

"Friends, we must not make this a solemn betrothal feast!" he said. "We
have agreed--the most of us--that the danger is not over pressing. Let
us then set aside care while we may, for these few days, at least. Our
host did not bring us together to see long faces. While we live, let us
live!" He turned to Marius. "For sake of thee and thy bride, friend, we
will forget as we may the clouds which threaten us. Look to it that when
shortly we call on you, we find no cause to regret it."

"You shall find no cause," said Marius.

That afternoon Aurelius departed with his people. He would see for
himself what damage had been wrought upon his city, and whether or not
it was still in the hands of the insurgents and barbarians. He was in no
humor for betrothal feasts and merrymaking when his city was lost. He
had come there hoping to obtain help and prompt concerted action on the
part of his colleagues. He could not get it; so he would go away again.

But he left behind him Felix, his pale-eyed son, who was wounded and
wore his arm in a sling, and for doing so gave no man his reasons.

V

Wardo, the tall Saxon, sword-girt and muffled in his cloak, lighted his
torch at the cresset which burned at the head of the passage behind the
storerooms, and started down the slimy steps leading to the dungeon
levels. Evening had fallen, fragrant with warm earth-scents and the
odors of flowers; a silent night of Spring, when Earth slept and
gathered strength for the new life she should bring forth.

All that could be heard of the high feasting going on in the great house
was a haunting snatch of music drifting now and again into the night on
the soft air. Yet Wardo knew that in the Hall of Columns, with its rare
frescoes, its lights and perfumes and flowers, men and women, robed in
the splendor of their wealt