Actæon, who since his return to Saguntum had again assumed control of the work of defense, must go up on the wall.
"Run away, Rhanto," he said hastily. "You will be killed here. Go to Sónnica's house——I will take you to Erotion. But fly! Hide yourself! See how the missiles are falling around us!"
He shoved her from the stairway with an energetic push which nearly drove her to her knees.
The Greek ran up hastily, hearing the ceaseless and deadly hisses rending the air about his head. Before he reached the merlons he heard a faint groan at his back, a gentle cry which recalled to Actæon's mind the bleating of a fawn when pierced by the huntsman's arrow. Turning he saw Rhanto half way up the steps, wavering, ready to fall backward, her breast covered with blood and pierced by a long feather-tipped shaft, still quivering from the swiftness of its flight.
She had started to follow him up the wall, but an arrow had caught her.
"Rhanto! Poor Rhanto!"
Obeying an impulse of grief which he could not explain to himself, but which was stronger than his will, he forgot the defense of the wall, the attack of the enemy, everything, to run toward the girl, who sank down with the gentle flutter of a wounded bird.
He took her in his strong arms and laid her at the foot of the steps. Rhanto sighed, moving her head as if trying to rid herself of the pain which had taken possession of her.
The Greek supported her by the shoulders, calling tenderly:
"Rhanto! Rhanto!"