Still the girl sat weeping on the ground; while Raphael, utterly at his wits end, tried hard to persuade himself that it was no concern of his.
‘I am at the service of either or of both, for life or death; only be so good as to settle it quickly.... Hell! here it is settled for us, with a vengeance!’
And as he spoke, the tramp and jingle of horsemen rang along the lane, approaching rapidly.
In an instant Victoria had sprung to her feet—weakness and pain had vanished.
‘There is one chance—one chance for him! Lift over the bank, sir! Lift over, while I run forward and meet them. My death will delay them long enough for you to save him!’
‘Death?’ cried Raphael, seizing her by the arm. ‘If that were all—’
‘God will protect His own,’ answered she calmly, laying her finger on her lips; and then breaking from his grasp in the strength of her heroism, vanished into the night.
Her father tried to follow her, but fell on his face, groaning. Raphael lifted him, strove to drag up the steep bank: but his knees knocked together; a faint sweat seemed to melt every limb.... There was a pause, which secured ages long.... Nearer and nearer came the trampling.... A sudden gleam of the moon revealed Victoria standing with outspread arms, right before the horses’ heads. A heavenly glory seemed to bathe her from head to foot.... or was it tears sparkling in his own eyes?.... Then the grate and jar of the horse-hoofs on the road, as they pulled up suddenly.... He turned his face away and shut his eyes....
‘What are you?’ thundered a voice.
‘Victoria, the daughter of Majoricus the Prefect.’