rison and the encouraging words of their bishop, in
whose heart alone courage seemed to keep alive.

Anianus was the name of this valiant and wise churchman, whose counsels
of hope alone sustained the despairing citizens, whose diligence and
earnestness animated the garrison in its defence. The siege was fierce,
the defence obstinate, the army of relief was known to be on its way, if
they could but hold out till it came. Anianus, counting the days and
hours with intense anxiety, kept a sentinel on the lookout for the first
signs of the advancing host of Romans and Goths. Yet hours and days went
by, and no sign of flashing steel or floating banner could be seen,
until the stout heart of the bishop himself was almost ready to give way
to the despair which possessed so many of the citizens.

The Huns advanced point by point. They were already in the suburbs. The
walls were shaking beneath the blows of their battering-rams. The city
could not much longer be held. At length came a day which threatened to
end with Orleans in the hands of the ruthless foe. And still the
prayed-for relief came not. Hope seemed at an end.

While such of the people as could not bear arms lay prostrate in prayer,
Anianus, hopeful to the last, sent his messenger to the ramparts to look
for the banners of the Roman army. Far and wide, from his lofty outlook,
the keen-eyed sentinel surveyed the surrounding country. In vain he
looked. No moving object was visible, only the line of the forest and
the far-off bordering horizon. He returned with this discouraging
tidings.

"Go again," said the bishop. "They should have been here before now. Any
minute may bring them. Go again."

The sentinel returned, and again swept the horizon with his eyes, noting
every visible object, seeing nothing to give him hope. With heavy tread
he returned to the bishop, and reported his failure.

"They must be near!" cried Anianus, with nervous impatience. "Go; look
once more. Let nothing escape your eyes."

Back went the messenger, again mounted the rampart, again swept the
plain with his eyes. Nothing,--ah! what was that, on the horizon, at the
very extremity of the landscape, that small, faint cloud, which he had
not seen before? He watched it; it seemed to grow larger and nearer. In
haste he returned to the bishop with the hopeful news.

"I have seen a distant mist, like a far-off cloud of dust," he said. "It
is moving. It comes nearer."

"It is the aid of God!"