"Don't ask! Come with me! Hurry! Alas, perhaps even now it is too late."
The Batavian yielded to this unmistakable despair. Without removing his hand from her arm, he ran beside her.
"Where is the Tribune?" asked Bissula.
"With the Prefect: some news has come from Arbor."
"The gods be thanked. He is the only one who can help!"
On they ran through the streets of the camp, now perfectly dark except where fires were glimmering at the corners. Suddenly Bissula fell. The German dragged her up.
"A tent rope! You must keep more in the middle. But you are limping! Did you hurt yourself?"
"A little. Keep on."
But she reeled; her feet refused to carry her.
"Now it's lucky that I caught you," said the soldier, swinging her on his arm like a child. And Bissula, who usually so fiercely resisted every touch, willingly permitted it.