His soul was struggling against death. Slowly, with infinite difficulty, he tottered to his feet, a faint smile playing on his lips, and the old fire in his eyes.
"You see, I am able-bodied still ... quick! give me my sword, buckler, horse!"
Victor gave him the shield and sword. Julian took them and made a few unsteady steps, like a child learning to walk. The wound re-opened; he let fall his arms, sank into the arms of Oribazius and Victor and looking up cried contemptuously—
"All is over! Thou hast conquered, Galilean!"
And making no further resistance, he gave himself up to his friends, and was laid on the bed.
"Yes, yes," he repeated softly, "I am dying."
Oribazius leaned towards him, consoling him, assuring him that the wound would heal.
"Why deceive me?" answered Julian; "I am not afraid...." Then he added gravely, "I hope I shall die the death of the righteous."
In the evening he lost consciousness. Hour after hour went by. The sun went down. Fighting ceased. A lamp was lighted in the tent, and night slowly descended.
Julian did not recover consciousness. His breathing grew weaker; he was thought to be breathing his last. But later his eyes opened, little by little; his look was fixed steadily on a corner of the tent. A rapid whisper broke from his lips: he was in delirium.