duty or manly honor. He must be bound with
willow withes, with ropes, that he may not become base and destroy his
people for a woman's sake."

Agitated, overpowered, crushed, Adalo sank prostrate, his hands
clenched in his long locks, moaning: "Bissula--lost--lost!"

The Duke, unobserved, cast a keen sympathizing glance at the youth. He
saw that he had convinced and conquered him.

Adalo went out, grave and thoughtful, to be alone with his grief.

* * * * *

In the course of the day a messenger secretly conveyed to the Roman
camp a letter from Adalo, addressed to Saturninus and Ausonius. The
young chieftain, on the pretext of inspecting the farthest outposts,
had gone with his envoy from the top of the Holy Mountain through the
whole seven fortifications encircling it to the last one at the foot,
and then ridden with him into the forest which stretched between it and
the Roman camp. Here he awaited the answer, his noble face pale and
disfigured by the long mental conflict through which he had passed.
When he heard in the distance the hoof-beats of the returning horse
(evening had come, and the mountain peaks oh the opposite side of the
lake were glowing with crimson light), he ran breathless to meet it.

"Well," he cried, "where is the answer to the letter?"

"They gave me no answer. Both the Roman generals--for I had them both
called, as you ordered--read your letter before me with great, great
astonishment. They talked together, with loud exclamations, in words I
did not understand, not Roman ones. Then both turned to me, the older
one, who was formerly in the country, speaking first: 'Tell your master
the answer is: Never.' And the younger man added: 'Not even for this
price.'"

Then Adalo suddenly fell prone like a young pine whose last prop above
the last root has been cut by the axe. He had dropped face forward. The
faithful attendant sprang from his horse, sat down on the grass, and
took the senseless youth's head in his lap. Adalo lay unconscious a
long time, fairly stupefied by grief. The stars were already shining in
the sky, and the bats darting through the trees, when, panting for
breath, he climbed the mountain.

"That was the last effort," he said to himself. "Nothing is left now
except death--death in battle, not to save her, alas! only her corpse:
for if shame be inflicted on her, she will not survive it."

CHAPTER XXXIII.

B