"We are lost! we are lost!" she screamed.
"We are saved! we are saved!" shouted the soldier as he saw coming up the road at a gallop to meet them, the bronze casques and floating horse-hair crests, and scarlet cloaks, of a whole squadron of legionary cavalry, arrayed beneath a golden eagle—the head of their column scarcely distant three hundred yards.
But they were not saved yet, nor would have been—for Catiline's horse was close upon their croupe and his uplifted blade almost flashed over them—when, with a wild cry, Lucia dashed her white Ister at full speed, as she crossed the bridge, athwart the counter of black Erebus.
The thundering speed at which the black horse came down the hill, and the superior weight of himself and his rider, hurled the white palfrey and the brave girl headlong; but his stride was checked, and, blown as he was, he stumbled, and rolled over, horse and man.
A minute was enough to save them, and before Lucia had regained her feet, the ranks of the new comers had opened to receive the fugitives, and had halted around them, in some slight confusion.
"The Gods be blessed for ever!" she exclaimed, clasping her hands, and raising her eyes to heaven. "I have saved her!"
"And lost thyself, thrice miserable fool!" hissed a hoarse well known voice in her ear, as a heavy hand seized her by the shoulder, and twisted her violently round.
She stood face to face with Catiline, and met his horrid glare of hate with a glance prouder than his own and brighter. She smiled triumphantly, as she said in a clear high voice,
"I have saved her!"
"For which, take thy reward, in this, and this, and this!"