arrived there before the routed
army could rally, and defend themselves long enough to re-embark!....
What if--a thousand ugly possibilities began to crowd up.

'Suppose we found the gates of Ostia shut, and the Imperialists
bivouacked outside?' said Raphael half to himself.

'God would protect His own,' answered the girl; and Raphael had no heart
to rob her of her hope, though he looked upon their chances of escape as
growing smaller and smaller every moment. The poor girl was weary; the
mule weary also; and as they crawled along, at a pace which made it
certain that the fast passing column would be at Ostia an hour before
them, to join the vanguard of the pursuers, and aid them in investing
the town, she had to lean again and again on Raphael's arm. Her shoes,
unfitted for so rough a journey, bad been long since torn off, and her
tender feet were marking every step with blood. Raphael knew it by her
faltering gait; and remarked, too, that neither sigh nor murmur passed
her lips. But as for helping her, he could not; and began to curse
the fancy which had led to eschew even sandals as unworthy the
self-dependence of a Cynic.

And so they crawled along, while Raphael and the Prefect, each guessing
the terrible thoughts of the other, were thankful for the darkness which
hid their despairing countenances from the young girl; she, on the other
hand, chatting cheerfully, almost laughingly, to her silent father.

At last the poor girl stepped on some stone more sharp than usual--and,
with a sudden writhe and shriek, sank to the ground. Raphael lifted her
up, and she tried to proceed, but sank down again.... What was to be
done?

'I expected this,' said the Prefect, in a slow stately voice. 'Hear me,
sir! Jew, Christian, or philosopher, God seems to have bestowed on you a
heart which I can trust. To your care I commit this girl--your property,
like me, by right of war. Mount her upon this mule. Hasten with
her--where you will--for God will be there also. And may He so deal with
you as you deal with her henceforth. An old and disgraced soldier can do
no more than die.'

And he made an effort to dismount; but fainting from his wounds, sank
upon the neck of the mule. Raphael and his daughter caught in their
arms.

'Father! Father! Impossible! Cruel! Oh--do you think that I would have
followed you hither from Africa, against your own entreaties, to desert
you now?'

'My daughter, I command!'

The girl remained firm a