arations."

Marcus drew a deep breath.

"You are going to follow--him?"

"I am going with my old friend Caius Julius."

"And you'll take me with you, father?"

Cracis was silent for a few moments, and he sighed deeply as he laid his
hand upon his son's head.

"No, my boy; I must leave you behind. I am going to take part in a
great struggle."

"A great struggle, father? You don't mean a war?"

"Yes, my boy, I do mean a war."

"Oh!" exclaimed Marcus, and he turned sharply upon their visitor,
looking the question he longed to put, while Caius Julius met his eyes
and bowed in silence.

"You are too young," said Cracis, slowly; "and now I want you to help me
for the short time I am here making my preparations."

"Yes, father," cried the boy, in a choking voice; "but I should like for
you to--"

"Yes," said Cracis, interrupting him and speaking very firmly, "I know
what you would say--take you with me--but it cannot be. Now, Marcus,
you are only a boy, but I want you to let my old friend see that you can
act like a man. Do you understand?"

"Yes, father."

"Then look here, my boy. I reproved you and Serge rather harshly the
other day for what you had done--Serge especially, for treasuring up and
keeping in order my old war-like gear; but Marcus, one never knows what
Fate has in store for us. I could not foresee, neither, for that
matter, could he, what was so soon to come, but he did quite right. Now
then," he continued, sharply, "away with you at once, and get out all
the arms that I shall want, for I cannot leave here as student, but as a
soldier once again. You understand?"

Marcus nodded, quickly. He could not trust himself to speak.

"Go to my room then, at once, to the big, old chest. Stop!" he cried,
when Marcus was half way to the door. "Serge knows better than you.
Call him and take him with you to help you lay out what I shall require.
That will do. At once."

His brain whirling with excitement, his heart sinking with
disappointment and despair, Marcus ran into the house, striving to make
duty conquer all, his first effort being to drag his thoughts from self
and condense them upon the task he had in hand.

"Where shall I find Serge?" he muttered. "He'll be gone off somewhere
in the fields. Which way had I better go?"

The question had hardly formed itself in his brain as he was hurrying
across the little court where the fountain played, when the big, burly
figure of the old s