Part 16 (1/2)
”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.”
Bissula opened her eyes in the utmost astonishment, gazing at the Roman with the expression of a captured deer. The iron tramp of a marching cohort was heard close at hand, but the tents still concealed it from their gaze.
”What do you mean?” she stammered.
”I will tell you,” said Ausonius in a firmer, sterner tone than he had ever used. The opposition he now suspected irritated him, and he was determined to execute his will. ”I will tell you that I have resolved to fulfil my former plan. I shall take you as my guest for an indefinite time. As my little daughter,” he added cautiously, ”with me to Burdigala.”
”Never!” cried Bissula, raising both arms in the wildest terror.
”Yes, most certainly.”
”But I will not go. I--away from the lake--from--from my people? No, no, no!”
”Yes, yes, yes! This is not tyrannical nor cruel, as you think now.”
”Who will compel me to go away?”
”I. We compel children whom we are educating to do what we desire, for their own good. You do not understand your real welfare: I will force you to do so.”
”But I am no child; I am--” She advanced toward him defiantly.
”You are a captive. Do not forget that. You must obey your master, and he--”
”Is here,” said a deep voice.
Saturninus stepped between them. With a firm hand he held Bissula, who had turned, reeled as though giddy, and tried again to scale the wall.
”Do not forget that, Ausonius.”
Angered by the interruption, perplexed, and half ashamed, the other drew back. ”What are you doing?”
”I am protecting my captive.”