Meanwhile, incidents of grave moment had occurred in the Roman camp.

The friendly feeling between the two Roman Generals had become strained, and Bissula's ingenuousness toward both was transformed into fear and distrust. The two friends, once so intimately associated, avoided each other and confined their intercourse and conversation solely to matters absolutely required by the service. At the same time the prisoner, now suspiciously watchful, perceived in Ausonius a resentful bitterness toward the Tribune, very alien to his usual good-nature. The latter, on the other hand, evidently was not angry; even in his cool reserve he seemed to spare his older friend, nay, to treat him with a sort of compassion.

The little maid herself was very unhappy. Her careless unconsciousness was completely destroyed, and she did not know which of the two men whose friendship seemed to be broken, if not by her, on her account, she ought to avoid with the greater fear. This feeling grieved the kind-hearted girl. She was also burdened by anxiety about the future, by dread of the unknown, by rebelliousness--when she was powerless and fully aware of it--against the restraint imposed by the will of strangers upon her obstinacy, all threatening her immediately. For, however the two Romans differed in everything else concerning the prisoner, they seemed to unite in one thing: Bissula should never again be free, never return to the forest hut by the lake, to the familiar scenes of the neighborhood.

At these thoughts tears filled the eyes once so saucy or so proud. How sadly she admitted to herself that her own folly and defiance were the sole causes which had brought all this misfortune upon her! How kind, how prudent, how loyal Adalo's advice had been! Yet these tears, burning, bitter tears of remorse, nay, yearning, were a relief. Even now, in the trouble for which she alone was to blame, he had not abandoned her! The first greeting that reached her from her people had come from him; he had sent the young brother whom he loved so fondly, and whom therefore she loved for his sake, and Bruna too, her old playfellow.

She had dissembled craftily before the soldiers, and wondered loudly at the animal's "friendliness." But, as soon as she was alone in her tent with the faithful beast, she clasped the huge head tenderly with both white arms, kissed the broad forehead and lovingly patted the neck of the bear, who growled affectionately in reply. Then she slipped her hand through the collar, felt a depression in it, drew it up from the shaggy skin to the light of the Roman lamp, perceived characters scrawled on it, and read: "Through the gate to the lake."

Her heart throbbed warmly. So her friends had already consulted about her escape! They were giving her the safest direction, the part of the camp where her companions would wait for her. But they could not possibly mean that she should try to make her way now, without further delay, through the lake gate, that is, through the "Porta Decumana," so closely guarded day and night. Not now! But when?

Evidently as soon as something happened which would render escape possible; then she was to choose that direction. But what was to happen? An attack of the Alemanni? Ausonius laughed at it. Even cautious Saturninus had said: "Unless they fly over it like the swallows that are now preparing for departure, they will not come into this solid camp."

So she racked her little brains, pondering over all sorts of possibilities which might bring her liberty against or with the will of the Romans. Should she appeal to Ausonius again? No!

A strange timidity had taken possession of her ever since her last interview with him. She had never cherished any affection for the clever, eloquent man except the feeling a daughter has for a father; but recently, in making the proposal to take her with him, his eyes had rested on her so strangely. Never had he looked at her so before. It was like the gaze Saturninus fixed upon her when he seized her outside of the forest hut--but never again, not even when he told her that she belonged to him and he would not release her.

So it happened that the sensitive girl, alarmed by the suddenly discovered ardor of the older man, felt safer and more at ease with the younger but undemonstrative one. She avoided Ausonius; she almost sought Saturninus, to whom, at the beginning and during the whole course of her captivity, she had learned to be grateful as to a watchful guardian.

Often and often, since reading Bruna's message, she walked toward the lake gate, without hoping to find it unwatched or carelessly guarded,--the Tribune kept too strict a rule, too sharp an oversight for that,--but to impress upon her mind the exact locality of the streets and tents which might afford a hiding-place near the gate where she might await, close at hand, the most favorable moment.

She had soon chosen for this purpose a towering heap of beams, gabions, and boards piled one above another, which had not been used in building the camp and had been left here: it rose high above her head, and when behind it, she was concealed from the view of those at the gate or in the street between the tents. But she never lingered long at the spot, lest she might arouse suspicion.

Bissula sought from preference the opposite side of the camp, facing the north, where the lofty pine-tree of the earth-goddess rose beside the broad sacrificial stones of the altar, spreading out its mighty branches, and from above the wall the eye could rove freely over the forests to the distant peaks where, veiled by mists, the Holy Mountain towered. Her thoughts always flew thither, not to the eastern marshes, not to Suomar. She was often anxious about her grandmother, but Zercho had certainly concealed her; and now that "the obstinate redhead" could no longer say no, probably on the Holy Mountain.

"Therefore"--this was the excuse she willingly made to herself--"therefore I cannot help thinking constantly of the Holy Mountain, Oh no! That isn't true. It is not for my grandmother's sake. Adalo, Adalo, help!"

So she had called aloud the evening after the refusal to set her at liberty, perched high among the branches of the pine-tree into which she liked to climb to dream alone, and at the same moment stretched her beautiful arms, with a gesture of longing entreaty, toward the northwest, where lightning was flashing over the mountain peaks.

On the evening after the inspection (it was the day of the assembly on the Holy Mountain) she walked through the streets of the camp, thinking and dreaming of her liberation, also of her liberator. She had tied faithful Bruna firmly to the poles of her tent; for there had repeatedly been serious trouble when she took the animal with her: boys belonging to the camp followers pelted her with stones, from safe hiding-places, till she was greatly infuriated.

To Ausonius's nephew, especially, the bear showed intense antipathy, rising on her hind legs and growling furiously whenever she saw him, though he anxiously kept out of her way and never teased her. Only with the utmost difficulty, by clasping her arms around the animal, had she prevented Bruna from attacking him.

"Your she-bear understands Latin," said Saturninus, who had sprung to help her, smiling. "She knew what Herculanus said when he swore that some day she should pay in the amphitheatre at Rome, under the teeth of his Thessalian dogs, for the mischief she meant to do him here."

"Bruna in Rome?" the girl cried defiantly. "No more--than Bissula in Burdigala!" But as she spoke she almost wept from rage, hate, and fear.