itives, the war-cry of the pursuers sounded nearer and nearer.

The Tribune ordered several pioneers whom he met to break a passage
with their axes through the carts for Ausonius and the left column. The
men did not obey willingly; they were reluctant to turn back, with the
Decumanian Gate in sight, to meet the furious attack of the foe; but
Roman military discipline and the habit of obedience to their honored
General again conquered, so they went to meet Ausonius, while the
Tribune hastened onward.

The rising flames, the echoing blows of the axes, accompanied by the
ominous crash of splintering wood, urged the Tribune to still greater
speed; this gate must not be opened from the outside if his last
attempt to escape was not to fail. But scarcely had he reached the open
space before it, when fresh cries of despair rose from the column at
the left commanded by Ausonius. Before the pioneers had broken a
passage to the Prefect, his men had been reached by the arrows and
spears of the pursuers, and he himself, falling between two wagons,
suddenly vanished from their eyes. Loud lamentations from his followers
burst forth.

Then the pioneers turned and fled in the opposite direction; the
Barbarians were threatening on the left, so they ran down one of the
cross streets at the right which intersected the central one.

"Fly," called the foremost one, running directly past Herculanus, who
was making desperate but fruitless efforts to tear with his unchained
hands the solid oak-block from the earth or to release his feet from
the small holes and iron clamps. "Fly! Ausonius has fallen!"

"Ausonius is dead!" shouted the second; throwing away his heavy axe,
which impeded his flight. It fell near the prisoner, who, without
heeding the violent pain which the movement caused to his strained feet
and bruised ankles, stretched both arms toward it. Triumph! He could
reach it. At least he could touch the handle with the tips of his
fingers, draw it slowly nearer, then at last seize and drag it to his
side.

One of Ausonius's slaves, who had been wounded by an arrow, limped
along more slowly. "Oh, my kind master, Ausonius! He has fallen. He is
dead."

"Dead?" cried Herculanus, "are you sure he is dead?"

But the fugitive had not heard, or did not wish to hear him--he had
already moved on to Davus.

"Help me!" wailed the latter. "Don't leave me here to burn--or to fall
into the hands of the Barbarians!"

"Miserable murderer!" w