tumbled.
The large six-oared boat of Ahenobarbus was moored close beside
Cappadox's skiff.

Drusus was into the skiff and casting loose before Lucius could
descend from the upper terrace. The young Domitian was in a terrible
distress.

"The letters! The letters! Freedom to you all if you save them! Cast
off! Chase! Sink the skiff!"

But before any of the unskilful assailants could execute the order,
Cappadox had driven the butt of his paddle clean through the bottom
planking of the larger boat, and she was filling rapidly. The paddle
shivered, but it was madness to embark on the stoven craft.

The skiff shot away from the landing as though an intelligent soul,
rising equal to the needs of the crisis. The blue dancing water lapped
between her gunwale and the shore. Drusus stood erect in the boat,
brushed back the blood that was still streaming over his eyes, and
looked landward. The slaves and freedmen were still on the landing,
gazing blankly after their escaped prey. Ahenobarbus was pouring out
upon their inefficiency a torrent of wrathful malediction, that
promised employment for the "whipper" for some time to come. But
Drusus gave heed to none of these things. Standing on the upper
terrace, her hair now dishevelled and blowing in tresses upon the
wind, was Cornelia, and on her all her lover's gaze was fixed.

"Safe?" and the melodious shout drifted out over the widening stretch
of water.

"Safe! to live and to love!" And Drusus thought, with his keen lover's
eye, he could see the dimming face brighten, and the hands go up in a
gesture of thanksgiving.

It was all that was said. Another boat might be procured at any time
by Lucius Ahenobarbus; and with only one paddle Cappadox could make
but slow headway. Stiff and bruised, the young man flung himself on
the bottom of the skiff, and panted and nursed himself after his
mortal struggle. Now that the combat was over he felt weak and sore
enough, and was quite content to let Cappadox adjust such improvised
bandages as were available, and scull him toward Puteoli. Fortunately
none of the bruises was caused by any harder weapons than fists, and,
though his body was black and blue, he had sustained no serious hurt.
And so he rested his head on a wrap, and closed his eyes, and called
up before his mind the vision of Cornelia. How beautiful she had been
when he met her! How much more beautiful when she thrust her way
through the fighting slaves and put the sword in