"I do not know, but fear it," said the stout soldier; "He had vowed himself to slay Catiline with his own hands. Such vows are not easy, Julia, nor safe of performance." "And Catiline?" asked Julia,—"the parricide—the monster?" "Has not survived the strife. None of the traitors have survived it," replied Petreius. "But how he fell, or where, as yet we know not." "Paullus hath slain him! my own, my noble Paullus." "I think so, Julia," answered the general. "I know it," she said slowly—"but what availeth that to me—to me who had rather hear one accent of his noble voice, meet one glance of his glorious eye—alas! alas! my Paullus! my Lord! my Life! But I will not survive him!" "Hold, Julia, hold! I would not nurse you to false hopes, but he may yet be living; many are wounded doubtless, who shall be saved to-morrow—" "To-morrow?" she exclaimed, a gleam of hope bursting upon her soul, like the dayspring. "Why not to-night?—Petreius, I say, why not to-night?" "It is impossible. The men are all worn out with wounds and weariness, and must have daylight to the task. Dear girl, it is impossible." "I will go forth myself, alone, unaided, I will save him." "You must not, Julia." "Who shall prevent me? Who dare to part a betrothed maiden from her true lover,—true, alas! in death! in death!" "I will," replied Petreius firmly. "You know not the perils of such a night as this. The gaunt wolves from the Appennines; the foul and carrion vultures; the plundering disbanded soldiers; the horrid unsexed women, who roam the field of blood more cruel than the famished wolf, more sordid than the loathsome vulture. I will prevent you, Julia. But with the earliest dawn to-morrow I will myself go with you. Fare you well, try to sleep, and hope, hope for the best, poor Julia." And with a deep sigh at the futility of his consolation, the noble Roman left the tent, giving strict orders to the peasant girls who had been pressed into her service, and to Arvina’s freedmen who were devoted to her, on no account to suffer her to leave the camp that night, and even, if need were, to use force to prevent her. Meanwhile the frost wind had risen cold and cutting over the field of blood. Its chilly freshness, checking the flow of blood and fanning the brow of many a maimed and gory wretch, awoke him to so much at least of life, as to be conscious of his tortures; and loud groans, and piercing shrieks, and agonizing cries for water might beheard now on all sides, where, before the wind rose, there had been but feeble wailings and half-unconscious lamentations. Then came a long wild howl from the mountain side, another, and another, and then the snarling fiendish cry of the fell wolf-pack. Gods! what a scream of horrid terror rose from each helpless sufferer, unanimous, as that accursed sound fell on their palsied ears, and tortured them back into life.