Then a thought flashed through her mind which at first made her shudder. But she bravely conquered the girlish fright, went to the dead Celt, loosed, with trembling fingers, the iron band which fastened the helmet under his chin, drew it carefully, tenderly, as if the dead could feel, from his head, then hastened to the cask, half filled it, and carried it with both hands, the long horse-hair of the crest trailing on the ground. She walked slowly, that she might not spill too much, to the groaning man, who watched her movements with glassy eyes and opened his mouth eagerly. Kneeling by his side, she held the helmet sideways to his bearded lips. He drained it to the last drop, and with a long sigh of relief, laid his head back on the pole and said, with an effort: "Are you a Christian?" The girl shook back her red locks defiantly: "Freya and Frigga protect me." "No matter," replied the dying man, "Christ, the Saviour, girl, will reward you for this drink!" Bissula rose slowly, her glance rested upon the nearest street of tents to the left and, with a sharp cry of terror, she dropped the helmet and ran as swiftly as she could, toward the gate. For, down that street, brightly illumined by the blaze of the burning tents, she saw, stealing toward her, crouching like a beast of prey, with a dagger in his hand,--Herculanus. CHAPTER LIV. Hitherto Herculanus had remained concealed from both Romans and Germans in the tent on the cross street where he had sought refuge. Now everything around had become so still that he might have supposed the camp to be deserted, but the cautious fugitive probably would not have left the tent yet if the fire, and still more the smoke, of the consuming leather had not driven him away. Peering timidly between the folds, he glided out, and his first glance fell upon the hated girl to whom he believed he owed his downfall. With a short, half stifled cry of savage delight in vengeance, he sprang toward her, the quivering dagger uplifted, when he saw that he was discovered. But Bissula had a good start; he was obliged to pass the fifty paces of the cross street before reaching the corner tent where she had just been kneeling, and his aching feet would not permit him to follow as fast as his hate desired. Meanwhile Bissula fled like a hunted deer down the central street to the gate; there she glanced back. Alas, he must have guessed the direction of her flight, for he also ran toward the gate and saw her pass out into the open country. He followed. At first hate and revenge urged him recklessly on. But now, after obeying these impulses, he said to himself while running: