“Fly! fly!” urged Cornelia, and out of the building, armed now with swords and staves, came flocking the freedmen of the house and as many slaves as they could muster.

“Salve! carissima,” and Drusus, who never at the instant gave thought to the blood all over him, pressed her in one last kiss.  He gained the terrace steps by a single bound ahead of his armed attackers.  Cappadox smote down the foremost freedman with a buffet of the oar.  Ahenobarbus staggered to his feet as Drusus sprang over him, and the latter tore a packet of tablets from his hand, never stopping in his own flight.

Then down on to the little landing-place pursuers and pursued tumbled.  The large six-oared boat of Ahenobarbus was moored close beside Cappadox’s skiff.

Drusus was into the skiff and casting loose before Lucius could descend from the upper terrace.  The young Domitian was in a terrible distress.

“The letters!  The letters!  Freedom to you all if you save them!  Cast off!  Chase!  Sink the skiff!”

But before any of the unskilful assailants could execute the order, Cappadox had driven the butt of his paddle clean through the bottom planking of the larger boat, and she was filling rapidly.  The paddle shivered, but it was madness to embark on the stoven craft.

The skiff shot away from the landing as though an intelligent soul, rising equal to the needs of the crisis.  The blue dancing water lapped between her gunwale and the shore.  Drusus stood erect in the boat, brushed back the blood that was still streaming over his eyes, and looked landward.  The slaves and freedmen were still on the landing, gazing blankly after their escaped prey.  Ahenobarbus was pouring out upon their inefficiency a torrent of wrathful malediction, that promised employment for the “whipper” for some time to come.  But Drusus gave heed to none of these things.  Standing on the upper terrace, her hair now dishevelled and blowing in tresses upon the wind, was Cornelia, and on her all her lover’s gaze was fixed.

“Safe?” and the melodious shout drifted out over the widening stretch of water.

“Safe! to live and to love!” And Drusus thought, with his keen lover’s eye, he could see the dimming face brighten, and the hands go up in a gesture of thanksgiving.

It was all that was said.  Another boat might be procured at any time by Lucius Ahenobarbus; and with only one paddle Cappadox could make but slow headway.  Stiff and bruised, the young man flung himself on the bottom of the skiff, and panted and nursed himself after his mortal struggle.  Now that the combat was over he felt weak and sore enough, and was quite content to let Cappadox adjust such improvised bandages as were available, and scull him toward Puteoli.  Fortunately none of the bruises was caused by any harder weapons than fists, and, though his body was black and blue, he had sustained no serious hurt.  And so he rested his head on a wrap, and closed his