ins, and struggling in vain, bound as she
was, to escape from her captors and return.

'Conduct unjustifiable in any fleas,--eh, Bran? How do I know that,
though? Why should it not be a piece of excellent fortune for her, if
she had but the equanimity to see it? Why--what will happen to her?
She will betaken to Rome, and sold as a slave.... And in spite of a few
discomforts in the transfer, and the prejudice which some persons have
against standing an hour on the catasta to be handled from head to foot
in the minimum of clothing, she will most probably end in being far
better housed, fed, bedizened, and pampered to her heart's desire, than
ninety-nine out of a hundred of her sister fleas.... till she begins
to grow old.... which she must do in any case....And if she have not
contrived to wheedle her master out of her liberty, and to make tip a
pretty little purse of savings, by that time--why, it is her own fault.
Eh, Bran?'

But Bran by no means agreed with his view of the case; for after
watching the two ruffians, with her head stuck on one side, for a minute
or two, she suddenly and silently, after the manner of mastiffs, sprang
upon them, and dragged one to the ground.

'Oh! that is the "fit and beautiful," in this case, as they say in
Alexandria, is it? Well--I obey. You are at least a more practical
teacher than ever Hypatia was. Heaven grant that there may be no more of
them in the ruins!'

And rushing on the second plunderer, he laid him dead with a blow of his
dagger, and then turned to the first, whom Bran was holding down by the
throat.

'Mercy, mercy!' shrieked the wretch. 'Life! only life!'

'There was a fellow half a mile back begging me to kill him: with which
of you two am I to agree?--for you can't both be right.'

'Life! Only life!'

'A carnal appetite, which man must learn to conquer,' said Raphael,
as he raised the poniard..... In a moment it was over, and Bran and
he rose--Where was the girl? She had rushed back to the ruins, whither
Raphael followed her; while Bran ran to the puppies, which he had laid
upon a stone, and commenced her maternal cares.

'What do you want, my poor girl?' asked he in Latin. 'I will not hurt
you.'

'My father! My father!'

He untied her bruised and swollen wrists; and without stopping to thank
him, she ran to a heap of fallen stones and beams, and began digging
wildly with all her little strength, breathlessly calling 'Father!'

'Such is the gratitude of