Cornelia, utterly crushed by all she had gone through, sat in a corner sunk in a heap, and silently wringing her hands. It was certain, quite certain, that the tyrant was pitiless; the whole thing was merely a prolongation of their misery, a postponement of the inevitable, a slow sipping of the cup of agony, which others had been allowed to swallow at a gulp! It was more than she could bear. Even Quintus, who had at first been elated by the sense of victory, became every moment more restless and wretched. Cornelia’s cry of despair, when the lion made its spring--a cry of horror and yet ecstatic--had pierced his heart. In that supreme utterance, wrung from her very soul, she had expressed all that could never have been said in words: a deep and tender reproach, a defiance of all their enemy's worst efforts, and a whole world of love, which could only live for him she loved. It was not till they were locked within the dungeon again, that Quintus observed that Cornelia was wounded; blood was flowing from her left arm--the brute’s claws must have touched her there. His feelings as he perceived this were beyond words; and then--when she refused, almost angrily, to let him stanch the blood, and at last tore a strip off the hem of her dress, and tied it up just “anyhow!” Her whole manner asked with gloomy scorn: “What is the good?” They knew, both of them, full well, what the next day must bring forth. The minutes dragged along with leaden slowness. The young man’s excited brain had lost all power to banish the most hideous thoughts; he could scarcely pray. He saw himself standing once more in the arena with Cornelia at his side, repeating the scene they had just rehearsed--till the end. This time he struck with less skill and success; the roaring beast crouched, sprang, he felt its claws in his flesh. He was lying on the earth, bleeding, mangled--yes, it was all true, only he felt no pain, only utter exhaustion. And the lion had clutched her too, Cornelia--beautiful, stately.--Then the monster was scared off from his bleeding prey, back into his cage. The servant was coming towards him with the harpoon--he could hear it crunching in the sand. He started up, shuddering violently. It was a hideous dream; he had fallen asleep after so long being restless. But the crunching and grinding did not cease, and now he heard his name called in an eager, loving human voice. The grey gloom was bright with the glare of torches. Before him stood Caius Aurelius, with eight soldiers of the northern army. “Quintus!” he cried, with open arms. “The gods be praised! Rise, noble Cornelia. Why do you gaze at me, as if you saw a ghost? I am Aurelius. I have brought you freedom.” “Caius?” stammered Quintus, almost speechless with surprise and new-born hopes. “You here--tell me, what has happened?”