Speed, Malise, speed, the dun deer's hide
On fleeter foot was never tied.
LADY OF THE LAKE.

Scarcely had the door closed behind Catiline, who rushed forth torch in hand, as if goaded by the furies of Orestes, when half a dozen stout men, sheathed in the full armor of Roman legionaries, sprang out of the brushwood on the gorge's brink, and seizing the ropes which had hung idle during that critical hour, hauled on them with such energetical and zealous power, that the ladder was drawn across the chasm with almost lightning speed.

The hooks, with which its outer end was garnished, caught in the crevices of the ruined wall, and a slender communication was established, although the slight structure which bridged the abyss was scarcely capable of supporting the weight of a human being.

The soldiers, accustomed, as all Roman soldiers were, to all the expediences and resources of warfare, had prepared planks which were to be run forward on the ladder, in order to construct a firm bridge. For the plan of the besiegers, until interrupted by Catiline's arrival, had been to take the stronghold in reverse, while a false attack in front should be in progress, and throwing ten or twelve stout soldiers into the heart of the place, to make themselves masters of it by a coup-de-main.

This well-devised scheme being rendered unfeasible by the sudden charge of Catiline's horse, and the rout of the legionaries, the small subaltern's detachment which had been sent round under Lucia's guidance for it was she, who had discerned the means of passing the chasm, while lying in wait to assist Julia, and disclosed it to the centurion commanding had been left alone, and isolated, its line of retreat cut off, and itself without a leader.

The singular scenes, however, which they had witnessed, the interest which almost involuntarily they had been led to take in the fate of the fair girl, her calm and dauntless fortitude, and above all the atrocious villainy of Catiline, had inspired every individual of that little band with an heroic resolution to set their lives upon a cast, in order to rescue one who to all of them was personally unknown.

In addition to this, the discovery of Lucia's sex for they had believed her to be what she appeared, a boy which followed immediately on the loss of her Phrygian bonnet, and the story of her bitter wrongs, which had taken wind, acted as a powerful incentive to men naturally bold and enterprising.

For it is needless to add, that with the revelation of her sex, that of her character as the arch-traitor's child and victim went, as it were, hand in hand.

They had resolved, therefore, on rescuing the one, and revenging the other of these women, at any risk to themselves whatsoever; and now having waited their opportunity with the accustomed patience of Roman veterans, they acted upon it with their habitual skill and celerity.

But rapid as were their movements, they were outstripped by the almost superhuman agility of Lucia, who, knowing well the character of the human fiend with whom they had to contend, his wondrous promptitude in counsel, his lightning speed in execution, was well assured that there was not one moment to be lost, if they would save Arvina's betrothed bride from a fate worse than many deaths.

As soon therefore as she saw the hooks of the scaling ladder catch firm hold of the broken wall, before a single plank had been laid over its frail and distant rungs, she bounded over it with the light and airy foot of a practised dancer finding account at that perilous moment in one of those indelicate accomplishments in which she had been instructed for purposes the basest and most horrible.

Accustomed as they were to deeds of energy and rapid daring, the stout soldiers stood aghast; for, measuring the action by their own weight and ponderous armature, they naturally overrated its peril to one so slightly made as Lucia.

And yet the hazard was extreme, for not taking it into account that a single slip or false step must precipitate her into the abyss, the slender woodwork of the ladder actually bent as she alighted on it, from each of her long airy bounds.

It was but a second, however, in which she glanced across it, darted through the small embrasure, and was lost to the eyes of the men within the darkness of the old barrack.

Astonished though they were at the girl's successful daring, the soldiers were not paralyzed at all, nor did they cease from their work.

In less than a minute after she had entered the window, a board was thrust forward, running upon the framework of the ladder, and upon that a stout plank, two feet in breadth, capable of supporting, if necessary, the weight of several armed men.

Nor had this bridge been established many seconds before the soldier in command ran forward upon it, and met Lucia at the embrasure, bearing with strength far greater than her slight form and unmuscular limbs appeared to promise, the still senseless form of Julia.

Catching her from the arms of Lucia, the robust legionary cast the fainting girl across his shoulder as though she had been a feather; and rushed back with her toward his comrades, crying aloud in haste alarm

“Quick! quick! follow me quick, Lucia. I hear footsteps, they are coming!

The caution was needless, for almost outstripping the heavy soldier, the fleet-footed girl stood with him on the farther bank.

Yet had it come a moment later, it would have come all too late.

For having with his wonted celerity ascertained the truth of these fatal tidings, and ordered the body of horse whom he had brought up with him, and who had returned from pursuing the infantry, on seeing a larger body coming up from Antonius' army, to return with all speed to the camp of Manlius, retaining only a dozen troopers as a personal escort, Catiline had come back to bear off his lovely captive.

The clang of his haughty step had reached the ears of the legionary just as he drew poor Julia, unconscious of her rescue, through the barrack window; and as they stood on the brink of the ravine, thus far in safety, the red glare of the torches streaming through the embrasures, announced the arrival of their enemies, within almost arm's length of them.

The awful burst of imprecations which thundered from the lips of Catiline, as he perceived that his victim had been snatched from him, struck awe even into the hearts of those brave veterans.

A tiger robbed of its young is but a weak and poor example of the frantic, ungovernable, beast-like rage which appeared to prevail entirely above all senses, all consideration, and all reason.

“May I perish ill! may I die crucified! may the fowls of the air, the beasts of the field devour me, if she so escape!” he shouted; and perceiving the means by which she had been carried off, he called loudly for his men to follow, and was in the very act of leaping out from the embrasure upon the bridge, which they had not time to withdraw, when one of the legionaries spurned away the frail fabric with his foot, and drawing his short falchion severed the cords which secured it, at a single blow.

Swinging off instantly in mid air, it was dashed heavily against the rocky wall of the precipice, and, dislodged by the shock, the planks went thundering down into the torrent, at the bottom of the gorge; while upheld by the hooks to the stone window sill, the ladder hung useless on Catiline's side of the chasm, all communication thus completely interrupted.

At the same moment three of the heavy pila, which were the peculiar missiles of the legion, were hurled by as many stout arms at the furious desperado; but it was not his fate so to perish. One of the pondrous weapons hurtled so close to his temple that the keen head razed the skin, the others, blunted or shivered against the sides or lintel of the window, fell harmless into the abyss.

“Thou fool!” cried the man who had rescued Julia, addressing him who had cut away the bridge, “thou shouldst have let him reach the middle, ere thou didst strike that blow. Then would he have lain there now,” and he pointed downward with his finger into the yawning gulf.

“I do not know,” replied the other. “By the Gods! Catiline is near enough to me, when he is twenty paces distant.”

“Thou art right, soldier, and didst well and wisely,” said Lucia, hastily. “Hadst thou tarried to strike until he reached the middle, thou never wouldst have stricken at all. One foot without that window, he would have cleared that chasm, as easily as I would leap a furrow. But come! come! come! we must not loiter, nor lose one instant. He will not so submit to be thwarted, I have two horses by the roadside yonder. Their speed alone shall save us.”

“Right! right!” replied the soldier, “lead to them quickly. It is for life or death! Hark! he is calling his men now to horse. We shall have a close run for it, by Hercules!

“And we? asked one of the veterans

“Disperse yourselves among the hills, and make your way singly to the camp. He will not think of you, with us before him!

“Farewell! The Gods guide and guard thee!

“We shall much need, I fear, their guidance!” answered the legionary, setting off at a swift pace, still bearing Julia, who was now beginning to revive in the fresh air, following hard on Lucia, who ran, literally like the wind, to the spot where she had tied her own beautiful white Ister, and another horse, a powerful and well-bred Thracian charger, to the stems of two chesnut trees, in readiness for any fortunes.

Rapidly as the soldier ran, still the light-footed girl outstripped him, and when he reached the sandy road, she had already loosened the reins from the trees to which they had been attached, and held them in readiness.

“Mount, mount” cried Lucia, “for your life! I will help you to lift her.”

I am better now, exclaimed Julia Oh ye Gods! and safe too! I can help myself now! and in an instant she was seated behind the stout man-at-arms, and clinging with both hands to his sword belt.

“If you see me no more, as I think you will not, Julia, tell Paullus, Lucia saved you, and died, for love of him! Now ride! ride! ride! for your life ride!”

And giving their good horses head they sprang forth, plying the rein and scourge, at headlong speed.

As they ascended the first little hillock, they saw the troopers of Catiline pouring out of the watch-tower gate, and thundering down the slope toward the bridge, with furious shouts, at a rate scarcely inferior to their own.

They had but one hope of safety. To reach the little bridge and pass it before their pursuers should gain it, and cut off their retreat toward their friends, whom they knew to be nigh at hand; but to do so appeared well nigh impossible.

It was a little in their favor that the steeds of Catiline's troopers had been harassed by a long and unusually rapid night march, while their own were fresh and full of spirit; but this advantage was neutralized at least by the double weight which impeded the progress and bore down the energies of the noble Thracian courser, bearing Julia and the soldier.

Again it was in their favor that the road on their side the chasm was somewhat shorter and much more level than that by which Catiline and his riders were straining every nerve, gallopping on a parallel line with the tremulous and excited fugitives; but this advantage also was diminished by the fact that they must turn twice at right angles once to gain the bridge, and once more into the high road beyond it while the rebels had a straight course, though down a hill side so steep that it might well be called precipitous.

The day had by this time broken, and either party could see the other clearly, even to the dresses of the men and the colors of the horses, not above the sixth part of a mile being occupied by the valley of the stream dividing the two roads.

For life! fire flashed from the flinty road at every bound of the brave coursers, and blood flew from every whirl of the knotted thong; but gallantly the high-blooded beasts answered it. At every bound they gained a little on their pursuers, whose horses foamed and labored down the abrupt descent, one or two of them falling and rolling over their riders, so steep was the declivity.

For life! Catiline had gained the head of his party, and his black horse had outstripped them by several lengths.

If the course had been longer the safety of the fugitives would have been now certain; but so brief was the space and so little did they gain in that awful race, that the nicest eye hardly could have calculated which first would reach the bridge.

So secure of his prize was Catiline, that his keen blade was already out, and as he bowed over his charger's neck, goring his flanks with his bloody spurs, he shouted in his hoarse demoniacal accents, “Victory and vengeance!”

Still, hopeful and dauntless, the stout legionary gallopped on Courage!” he exclaimed, “courage, lady, we shall first cross the bridge!

Had Lucia chosen it, with her light weight and splendid horsemanship, she might easily have left Julia and the soldier, easily have crossed the defile in advance of Catiline, easily have escaped his vengeance. But she reined in white Ister, and held him well in hand behind the others, muttering to herself in low determined accents, “She shall be saved, but my time is come!”

Suddenly there was a hasty shout of alarm from the troopers on the other side, “Hold, Catiline! Rein up! Rein up!” and several of the foremost riders drew in their horses. Within a minute all except Catiline had halted.

“They see our friends! they are close at hand! We are saved! by the Immortal Gods! we are saved!” cried the legionary, with a cry of triumph.

But in reply, across the narrow gorge, came the hoarse roar of Catiline, above the din of his thundering gallop. By Hades! Death! or vengeance!”

“Ride! ride!” shrieked Lucia from behind, “Ride, I say, fool! you are not saved! He will not halt for a beat when revenge spurs him! For your life! ride!”

It was a fearful crisis.

The Thracian charger reached the bridge. The hollow arch resounded but once under his clanging hoofs the second stride cleared it. He wheeled down the road, and Julia, pale as death, whose eyes had been closed in the agony of that fearful expectation, unclosed them at the legionary's joyous shout, but closed them again in terror and despair with a faint shriek, as they met the grim countenance of Catiline, distorted with every hellish passion, and splashed with blood goûts from his reeking courser's side, thrust forward parallel nearly to the black courser's foamy jaws both nearly within arm's length of her, as it appeared to her excited fancy.

“We are lost! we are lost!” she screamed.

“We are saved! we are saved!” shouted the soldier as he saw coming up the road at a gallop to meet them, the bronze casques and floating horse-hair crests, and scarlet cloaks, of a whole squadron of legionary cavalry, arrayed beneath a golden eagle the head of their column scarcely distant three hundred yards.

But they were not saved yet, nor would have been for Catiline's horse was close upon their croupe and his uplifted blade almost flashed over them when, with a wild cry, Lucia dashed her white Ister at full speed, as she crossed the bridge, athwart the counter of black Erebus.

The thundering speed at which the black horse came down the hill, and the superior weight of himself and his rider, hurled the white palfrey and the brave girl headlong; but his stride was checked, and, blown as he was, he stumbled, and rolled over, horse and man.

A minute was enough to save them, and before Lucia had regained her feet, the ranks of the new comers had opened to receive the fugitives, and had halted around them, in some slight confusion.

“The Gods be blessed for ever!” she exclaimed, clasping her hands, and raising her eyes to heaven. “I have saved her!”

“And lost thyself, thrice miserable fool!” hissed a hoarse well known voice in her ear, as a heavy hand seized her by the shoulder, and twisted her violently round.

She stood face to face with Catiline, and met his horrid glare of hate with a glance prouder than his own and brighter. She smiled triumphantly, as she said in a clear high voice,

“I have saved her!”

“For which, take thy reward, in this, and this, and this!”

And with the words he dealt her three stabs, the least of which was mortal; but, even in that moment of dread passion, with fiendish ingenuity he endeavored to avoid giving her a wound that should be directly fatal.

“There writhe, and howl, 'till slow death relieve you!”

“Meet end to such beginning!” cried the unhappy girl. “Adulterous parent! incestuous seducer! kindred slayer! ha! ha! ha! ha!” and with a wild laugh she fell to the ground and lay with her eyes closed, motionless and for the moment senseless.

But he, with his child's blood smoking on his hand, shook his sword aloft fiercely against the legionaries, and leaping on his black horse which had arisen from the ground unhurt by its fall, gallopped across the bridge; and plunging through the underwood into the deep chesnut forest was lost to the view of the soldiers, who had spurred up in pursuit of him, that they abandoned it ere long as hopeless.

It was not long that Lucia lay oblivious of her sufferings. A sense of fresh coolness on her brow, and the checked flow of the blood, which gushed from those cruel wounds, were the first sensations of which she became aware.

But, as she opened her eyes, they met well known and loving faces; and soft hands were busy about her bleeding gashes; and hot tears were falling on her poor pallid face from eyes that seldom wept.

Julia was kneeling at her side, Paullus Arvina was bending over her in speechless gratitude, and sorrow; and the stern cavaliers of the legion, unused to any soft emotions, stood round holding their chargers' bridles with frowning brows, and lips quivering with sentiments, which few of them had experienced since the far days of their gentler boyhood.

“Oh! happy,” she exclaimed, in a soft low tone, “how happy it is so to die! and in dying to see thee, Paullus.”

“Oh! no! no! no!” cried Julia, “you must not, shall not die! my friend, my sister! O, tell her, Paullus, that she will not die, that she will yet be spared to our prayers, our love, our gratitude, our veneration.”

But Paullus spoke not; a soldier, and a man used to see death in all shapes in the arena, he knew that there was no hope, and, had his life depended on it, he could not, at that moment have deceived her.

Little, however, cared the dying girl for that; even if she had heard or comprehended the appeal. Her ears, her mind, were full of other thoughts, and a bright beautiful irradiation played over her wan lips and ashy features, as she cried joyously, although her voice was very tremulous and weak.

“Paullus, do you hear that? her friend! her sister! Paullus, Paullus, do you hear that? Julia calls me her friend me, me her sister! me the disgraced

“Peace! peace! Dear Lucia! you must not speak such words!” said Paullus. “Be your past errors what they may and who am I, that I should talk of errors? this pure high love this delicate devotion this death most heroical and glorious no! no! I cannot ” and the strong man bowed his head upon his hands, and burst into an agony of tears and passion.

No revelation from on high had taught those poor Romans, that 'joy shall be in heaven, over the sinner that repenteth, more than over ninety and nine just persons that need no repentance.'

Yet groping darkly on their way by the dim lights of nature and philosophy, they had perceived, at least, that it is harder far for one corrupted from her very childhood, corrupted by the very parents who should have guided, with all her highest qualities of mind and body perverted studiously till they had hardened into vices, to raise herself erect at once from the slough of sensuality and sin, and spring aloft, as the butterfly transmuted from the grub, into the purity and loveliness of virtue than for one, who hath known no trial, suffered no temptation, to hold the path of rectitude unswerving.

And Julia, whose high soul and native delicacy were all incapable of comprehending the nature, much less the seductions, of such degradation, as that poor victim of parental villainy had undergone, saw clearly and understood at a glance, the difficulty, the gloriousness, the wonder of that beautiful regeneration.

“No, no. Dear Lucia, dear sister, if you love that name,” she said in soothing tones, holding her cold hands clasped in her own quivering fingers, “indeed, indeed you must not think or speak of yourself thus. Your sins, if you have sinned, are the sins of others, your virtues and your excellence, all, all your own. I have heard many times of women, who have fallen from high virtue, in spite of noble teachings, in spite of high examples, and whom neither love nor shame could rescue from pollution but never, never, did I hear of one who so raised herself, alone, unaided, in spite of evil teaching, in spite the atrocity of others, in spite of infamous examples, to purity, devotion such as thine! But, fear not, Lucia. Fear not, dearest girl, you shall not die, believe

“I do not fear, I desire it,” said the dying girl, who was growing weaker and fainter every moment. “To a life, and a love like mine, both guilty, both unhappy, death is a refuge, not a terror; and if there be, as you believe, who are so wise and virtuous, a place beyond the grave, where souls parted here on earth, may meet and dwell in serene and tranquil bliss, perhaps, I say, perhaps, Julia, this death may compensate that life this blood may wash away the sin, the shame, the pollution.”

“Believe it, O believe it!” exclaimed Julia earnestly. “How else should the Gods be all-great and all-wise; since vice triumphs often here, and virtue pines in sorrow. Be sure, I say, be sure of it, there is a place hereafter, where all sorrows shall be turned to joy, all sufferings compensated, all inequalities made even. Be sure of that, dear Lucia.”

“I am sure of it,” she replied, a brighter gleam of pleasure crossing her features, on which the hues of death were fast darkening. “I am sure of it now. I think my mind grows clearer, as my body dies away. I see I see there is God! Julia there is an hereafter an eternity rest for the weary, joy for the woful! yes! yes! I see I feel it. We shall meet, Julia. We shall meet, Paullus, Paullus!” And she sank back fainting and overpowered upon Julia's bosom.

In a moment or two, however, she opened her eyes again, but it was clear that the spirit was on the point of taking its departure.

“I am going!” she said in a very low voice. “I am going. His sword was more merciful than its master. Bury me in a nameless grave. Let no stone tell the tale of unhappy, guilty Lucia. But come sometimes, Julia, Paullus, and look where I lie; and sometimes will you not sometimes remember Lucia?”

“You shall live in our souls forever!” replied Julia, stooping down to kiss her.

“In your arms, Paullus, in your arms! will you not let me, Julia? 'Twere sweet to die in your arms, Paullus.

“How can you ask?” cried Julia, who scarce could speak for the tears and sobs, which almost choked her.

“Here, Paullus, take her, gently, gently.”

“Oh! sweet oh! happy!” she murmured, as she leaned her head against his heart, and fixed her glazing eyes upon his features, and clasped his hand with her poor dying fingers. “She told you, Paullus, that for your love I died to save her!”

“She did she did dear, dearest Lucia!

“Kiss me,” she whispered; “I am going very fast. Kiss me on the brow, Paullus, where years ago you kissed me, when I was yet an innocent child.” Then, fancying that he hesitated, she cried, “you will let him kiss me, now, will you not, Julia? He is yours

“Oh! kiss her, kiss her, Paullus,” exclaimed Julia eagerly, “how could you fancy, Lucia, that I should wish otherwise? kiss her lips, not her brow, Paullus Arvina.”

“Kiss me first thou, dear Julia. I may call you dear.”

“Dear Lucia, dearest sister!”

And the pure girl leaned over and pressed a long kiss on the cold lips of the unhappy, guilty, regenerated being, whose death had won for her honor, and life, and happiness.

“Now, Paullus, now,” cried Lucia, raising herself from his bosom by a last feeble effort, and stretching out her arms, “now, ere it be too late!

He bowed down to her and kissed her lips, and she clasped her arms close about his neck, and returned that last chaste caress, murmuring “Paullus, mine own in death, mine own, own Paullus!

There was a sudden rigor, a passing tremulous spasm, which ran through her whole frame for a moment her arms clasped his neck more tightly than before, and then released their hold, all listless and unconscious her head fell back, with the eyes glazed and visionless, and the white lips half open.

“She is dead, Julia!” exclaimed Paullus, who was not ashamed to weep at that sad close of so young and sorrowful a life, “dead for our happiness!”

Hush! hush! cried Julia, who was still gazing on the face of the dead There is a change see! see! how beautiful, how tranquil!

And in truth a sweet placid smile had settled about the pallid mouth, and nothing can be conceived more lovely than the calm, holy, pure expression which breathed from every lineament of the lifeless countenance.

“She is gone, peace to her manes.”

“She is at rest, now, Paullus, she is happy!” murmured Julia. “How excellent she was, how true, how brave, how devoted! Oh! yes! I doubt not, she is happy.”

“The Gods grant it!” he replied fervently. “But I have yet a duty,” and drawing his short straight sword he severed one long dark curl from the lifeless head, and raising it aloft in his left hand, while with the right he pointed heavenward the gleaming steel, “Ye Gods!” he cried, “supernal and infernal! and ye spirits and powers, shades of the mighty dead! Hear earth, and heaven, and thou Tartarus! by this good steel, by this right hand, in presence of this sacred dead, I swear, I devote Catiline and his hated head to vengeance! By this sword may he perish; may this hair be steeped in his lifeblood; may he know himself, when dying, the victim of my vengeance may dogs eat his body and his unburied spirit know neither Tartarus nor Elysium!

It was strange, but as he ceased from that wild imprecation, a faint flash of lightning veined the remote horizon, and a low clap of thunder rumbled afar off, echoing among the hills perchance the last of a storm, unheard before and unnoticed by the distracted minds of the spectators of that scene.

But the superstitious Romans accepted it as an omen.

“Thunder! cried one.

“The Gods have spoken!

“I hail the omen!” exclaimed Paullus, sheathing his sword, and thrusting the tress of hair into his bosom. “By my hand shall he perish!”

And thenceforth, it was believed generally by the soldiers, that in the coming struggle Catiline was destined to fall, and by the hand of Paul Arvina.