It was Marcus AEmilius, covered with dust, and at first unable to
utter another word, as he sat on the ground, supported by his
brother, while his father made haste to administer the wine handed
to him by an attendant.

"Am I in time?" he asked.

"In time, my son," replied his father, repeating his announcement in
Gothic. "Odorik lives!"

"He lives, he will live," repeated Marcus, reviving. "I came not
away till his life was secure."

"Is it truth?" demanded the old Goth. "Romans have slippery ways."

Meinhard was quick to bear testimony that no man in Arvernia doubted
the word of an AEmilius; but Marcus, taking a small dagger from his
belt, held it out, saying--

"His son said that he would know this token."

Odo felt it. "It is my son's knife," he said, still cautiously;
"but it cannot speak to say how it was taken from him."

"The old barbarian heathen," quoth Verronax, under his breath; "he
would rather lose his son than his vengeance."

Marcus had gathered breath and memory to add, "Tell him Odorik said
he would know the token of the red-breast that nested in the winged