“Yes,” said Cracis, speaking faintly now.
“How?” said Caius Julius, quickly. “Alone, to fight their way through the thousands of half conquered Gauls who will bar their way to the pass where the great captain is waiting for help?”
Cracis looked wildly at his brother in arms, and then slowly turned his eyes upon his son—eyes that had flashed but a short time before, but which now softened into a look of loving pride, as he slowly sank back insensible upon his rough pillow, Marcus darting to his side.
Chapter Thirty Two.
“My own Brave Boy!”
The speech Cracis made when he recovered from the fainting fit brought on by emotion when he was weak and prostrate from his wounds, and found Marcus by his side bathing his face, was very short, setting the boy’s heart at rest and telling him that the past was entirely forgiven; and the stern Roman judge merged once more in the loving father. For the speech was this:
“My own brave boy!”
“Ah!” cried Caius Julius, who had just hurried back, after having been away for a very brief time giving the orders which had set the whole camp in motion. “This is bad for you, Cracis, for we start at once straight for the pass, and as fast as we can go. Do you think you will be able to sit a horse?”