"Never mind! Send me with a safe escort, with a letter from you beyond your outposts."
"Where shall I send you?"
Bissula remained silent a short time. Her face was deeply flushed.
"Where? To the place where you always gaze in your reveries? Out yonder?"
"No," she replied, setting her teeth; "eastward, to my home. Then I will take care of myself."
"Child, you must stay till the war is over."
"No, I must go," she answered. "I belong to my people, not to you. It is not right, it is abominable, for me to sleep safe here in your protection, drink Roman wine from golden goblets, while my kindred are suffering want and danger. Let me go!" She raised her hand. The gesture was meant to be an entreaty, but it resembled a threat.
"Cease this folly, little one," Ausonius now said, more seriously. "My nephew's idle, unseemly words offended you; I reproved him for them; he will beg your pardon,"--Bissula made a contemptuous movement,--"and everything will be forgotten."
"Shall I forget my people?"
"Forget? No; but gradually become alienated from them. You look amazed. Well, let this trivial incident hasten the important disclosure I have to make. Are you thinking of leaving me? Give it up, sweet girl!" He controlled himself and went on more calmly: "My little daughter, you will never leave me again."