XXXII. OFF TO THE WARS. HE blow that had fallen upon the two friends overwhelmed both. Each had his own sorrows, and neither ventured to hint to the other a single word of consolation. For some time Labeo seemed to be bewildered by his grief, and lived and moved about in a state of stupor almost. Gradually the stupor lessened, but only to make grief more keen. The gloom seemed to gather more darkly around, and every ray of light to have departed forever. Gradually the two friends became drawn toward each other, and though at first each had shut himself up in solitude, yet the force of sympathy brought them together. They said little or nothing. They walked over the grounds, or rode over the country, or sat in the hall, commonly in silence, saying nothing but the fewest and most customary words, and yet with all this taciturnity each at last looked out for the society of the other, and felt restless without it. All else had gone; friendship was left, the strong friendship of two noble natures, began in boyhood, cemented and strengthened through years. Each knew the other's character to the inmost heart, and each had proved the other's fidelity. In his present grief each knew that the other suffered. The bereavement of Cineas had not been twofold, like that of Labeo, but his sensitive nature made his feelings keen and his anguish most acute. There was a great blank in his life, and he knew not how it could ever be filled. For he had been so accustomed to rely upon Helena's sympathy even when they were absent, that it seemed a necessity, and now, since he had lost it, he felt sensible of its value. Where again could he ever find so pure and elevated a soul, and one, too, that was so thoroughly in unison with his? Yet there was another whose grief was not less keen than that of these,a ruder, stronger nature, whose despair showed itself in the mute agony of his face. This was Galdus. Through the last few months he had only one thought in life, and that was Marcus. When the little boy could no longer walk about, Labeo had taken away from Galdus that charge which was so sweet to the latter, yet the father, in his deep love and sad foreboding, was not unmindful of that other strong love that lived in the stout heart of the Briton. He was allowed to have a share in the care of the sick boy, and precious were those moments when Galdus was allowed to bear so loved a burthen. When Labeo carried his son about the grounds, then Galdus followed him with his eyes, and stood ever on the watch, waiting eagerly for some opportunity of doing something, it mattered little what; but anything which he could find an occasion to do afforded him the highest happiness. When Marcus could no longer go out in the open air, then Galdus stood or walked all the time near to his room, till at last Labeo had pity on him, and allowed him to remain inside the chamber. There was in the bearing of the Briton that stoicism which is peculiar to the savage, but those who watched him saw that his fortitude often broke down, and whenever his eyes met those of Marcus, the stern rigidity of his features relaxed and softened into an expression of speechless love. At last all was over, and Galdus stood up like the image of Despair. He remained for days, and sometimes for nights, at the grave of his lost idol, as though his fidelity could recall the departed. His instinct of love bound him to that place where he saw the grave of that love, and while Labco and Cineas struggled with their grief in the house, Galdus nursed his silent agony at the sepulchre. There the two friends sometimes encountered him, and saw that third grief which might rival theirs. At such times they only looked, but passed by, and spoke no word. His first stupor After a time a change came over Labeo. passed away, but there came in its place a vivid consciousness of his painful loss. It aroused within him a violent sorrow, which found expression in curses against Heaven. It made him defiant against fate, and resentful, as though his affliction had been a wrong. The thought of his own impotence made him more passionate. But he could do nothcould wreak revenge, ing. There was no one on whom he One morning he joined Cineas in the garden, with his face more pallid than usual, and bloodshot eyes, and a wild restlessness in his face that started his friend. "Cineas," said Labeo, and it was almost the first word that he had spoken to him deliberately for months, "I can stand this no longer. I will kill myself if this goes on." Cineas looked at him in sad wonder, but said nothing. "I have already made the attempt," said the other. "It was this morning, at dawn," - he spake at intervals. "I had passed a night which was more sleepless than usual, and my heart ached. A sudden impulse came over me. I will put an end to this at once and forever. Why should I live if I have to live thus? And a great longing came over me for death. "I rose and took the dagger of my ancestor, which I have always carried, and made a libation to Jupiter the Deliverer, and then stretched out my arm, so as to plunge the dagger into heart. But," - and Labeo's voice became low and my broken, with emotion,-"suddenly I thought I heard a voice, - not of this world, - a voice that spoke to my soul it said, 'Father, we will meet - only, again.' it was his voice, - “And the dagger dropped from my hand. O my son!" groaned Labeo, clasping his hands, “did you see me from among the stars, and come to stay my hand? I accept the omen, whether it be my own delusion or the voice of the loved. I will not die like a coward to avoid suffering. If it were shame that was before me, then I would follow my ancestor. "But I must put an end to this. I cannot live thus. Every day makes it worse, and I suffer more now than when the blow first fell." “Do you feel thus, O friend of my soul?" said Cineas, in low, melancholy tones. "If so, then there is an alternative for both of us, - for you and for me: let us go." "Go? Where?" To an "Away,-away, anywhere away from this. active life, where we can forget all this, and forget ourselves. To Judea." "Judea," said Labeo, not quite understanding him. For "Yes," said Cineas, with a vehemence that was unusual with him. "To Judea, after the legions, - to war. war is there. The whole land has risen in rebellion, and there will be fighting such as the world has not seen since Philippi. That will force something else in our thoughts. We will follow the eagles of Rome. You shall lead your legions to victory. We will fight side by side, and scale the walls of those rock-built cities that are perched on the summits of the mountains. Then if we want death, it will come soon enough, I doubt not, and if life is desirable it will be a life with thoughts that are more endurable then those which we have here. The war has begun, and armies have already marched there to avenge the defeat of Cestius. I heard about it yesterday in the town." Then Cineas, fearful that Labeo might hesitate, spoke of his old legion, which had gone there, and of those old tentcompanions, with whom Labeo had already shared the perils of campaigning, and the stern excitement of war. At the sound of his insidious eloquence Labeo felt all his old military ardor stir within his breast; recollections that had long slumbered awakened into fierce and active life; all the soldier was aroused within him; he recalled the glorious old days of the campaign and the fervid heat of the battle; visions of Roman standards, and gleaming arms, and white tents arose, before him; his eyes sparkled, his nostrils quivered, and his heart beat fast. "Away; let us go," he cried, interrupting Cineas. "That is the true life for a man and a Roman. Why do I stand here whimpering like a child, when I have all this before me? Let us hasten. We will go together. You are not a soldier, Cineas, but you are a brave man, and you know the use of arms, and I will show you how to lead Roman armies." "I will go with you, and with no other, in life, or in death, to the end of the world. If we die let us die nobly like men, in battle, and not in our beds." At the stimulus of this new idea the two friends hastened their departure. Galdus was soon informed of their determination. They asked him to accompany them. The idea had as much power over the heart of the Briton as it had exerted over Labeo. "You are going to war?" said he. "Yes." The eyes of Galdus glowed. "And I am free?" "As free as I am." "Then I will go, too, but not with you. O Labeo, there are other wars for me. I am a Briton, I will not fight under the standards of Rome. "I am a Briton, and I am in the land of my fathers. I hear the voices of my fathers in my dreams, and they call on me for vengeance. I have forgotten them, and made my ears deaf to their cries. I hear them now, and I will obey. "Over all our British hills the tribes are yet dwelling, |