"Pshaw! The night-breeze in the branches!" "No, no! It was--" "Well, it was that bird! There it flies!" The startled blackbird, loudly uttering its cry of fear and warning, flew upward; the listener, in her horror, had pressed her hand upon her throbbing heart and, by the slight movement, frightened the bird perched so near her. "Well then, by Tartarus, I will risk it! He complained again to-day, before many witnesses, of fever and all sorts of pains. Have you hemlock enough? Shall I give you my vial? I brought it with me. Here, I always carry it in my breast." "Enough for six uncles!" "But the stuff must have a suspicious taste: sharp, bitter. Suppose he should notice it too soon?" "That's why I mixed the other half with honey. But take good care of your store. Perhaps Prosper, in case he has any suspicion, must also--" "Or the Barbarian girl, if the will has already--" "Let us go," the other interrupted. "Put it in the Emperor's goblet! He drinks from no other.--Quick: I go to the left." "And I go to the right." The voices died away, and the footsteps echoed from two directions. Horrified, almost paralyzed with terror, Bissula slipped down from the tree. On reaching the ground she staggered, clinging to the trunk for support, and for a moment wondered whether she had not fallen asleep and dreamed. She could not realize, could not believe that such a deed was possible. His own nephew--that kind-hearted man! And yet it was true. Haste was necessary. The hour for the meal had already come, and Ausonius always began by drinking from the Emperor's goblet, with the three beautiful female figures, to the health of the Emperor Gratianus. Those two men had the start, too, and it was a considerable distance from this extreme northwestern corner of the camp to the Prætorium in the south. Turning, she ran as swiftly as she could, but had only reached the corner of the nearest street of tents when she shrieked aloud in terror. An iron hand grasped her arm. "Help!" she screamed despairingly. "Help! Help for Ausonius!" "Why are you shrieking like a dying leveret, little one?" replied a deep voice. "Where are you going so fast?" "Let me go, whoever you may be! The Prefect's life is in danger! Who are you?" "I am Rignomer. I followed you unnoticed till you climbed the tree. You wouldn't have seen me now, if you hadn't dashed away as though you were driven by the elves. Where are you going?" "To the Prefect! They want to murder him!" "Oh, nonsense, what are you talking about? Who?" "Don't ask! Come with me! Hurry! Alas, perhaps even now it is too late." The Batavian yielded to this unmistakable despair. Without removing his hand from her arm, he ran beside her. "Where is the Tribune?" asked Bissula. "With the Prefect: some news has come from Arbor." "The gods be thanked. He is the only one who can help!"