Now, however, there was more real cause for alarm a trumpet-blast was heard, and a maniple of the twenty-second legion marched down in close order on the crowd who fled before them.  Medius was one of the first to make off; Dada kept close to his side, and when, in his alarm, he fairly took to his heels, she did the same; for, in spite of the reception she apprehended, she felt that the sooner she could rejoin her own people the better.  Never till now had she known how dear they were to her.  Herse might scold; but her sharpest words were truer and better than the smooth flattery of Medius.  It was a joy to think of seeing them again—­Agne, too, and little Papias—­and she felt as though she were about to meet them after years of separation.

By this time they were at the ship-yard, which was divided only by a lane from the Temple-grove; there lay the barge.  Dada pulled off her veil and waved it in the air, but the signal met with no response.  They were at the house, no doubt, for some men were in the very act of drawing up the wooden gangway which connected the vessel with the land.  Medius hurried forward and was so fortunate as to overtake the steward, who had been superintending the operation, before he reached the garden-gate.

The old man was rejoiced to see them, and told them at once that his old mistress had promised Herse to give Dada shelter if she should return to them.  But Dada was proud.  She had no liking for Gorgo or her grandmother; and when she had caught up to Medius, quite out of breath, she positively refused the old lady’s hospitality.

The barge was deserted.  Karnis—­so the steward informed her—­had withdrawn to the temple of Serapis with his son, intending to assist in its defence; and Herse had accompanied them, for Olympius had said that women would be found useful in the beleaguered sanctuary, in preparing food for the combatants and in nursing the wounded.

Dada stood looking at their floating home, utterly disappointed and discouraged.  She longed to follow her aunt and to gain admission to the Serapeutn; but how could she do this now, and of what use could she hope to be?  There was nothing heroic in her composition, and from her infancy she had always sickened at the sight of blood.  She had no alternative but to return with Medius, and take refuge under his roof.

The singer gave her ample time for reflection; he had seated himself, with the steward, under the shade of a sycamore, and the two men were absorbed in convincing each other, by a hundred arguments which they had picked up during the last day or two, how inevitably the earth must be annihilated if the statue of Serapis should be overthrown.  In the warmth of their discussion they paid no heed to the young girl, who was sitting on a fallen Hermes by the road-side.  Her vigorous and lively temperament rendered her little apt to dream, or even meditate, in broad daylight; but the heat and tie recent excitement had overwrought