seizing her hands, stammered out: "Thanks--thank you, Dada."

Their eyes met, and as he gazed into her face he forgot where he was, did
not even wonder why his brother had suddenly turned away and, beginning
some long-winded speech, had rushed after a man who hastily covered his
head and tried to escape; he did not notice that thousands of eyes were
fixed on him, and among them his mother's; he could merely repeat:
"thanks" and "Dada"--the only words he could find. He would perhaps have
gone on repeating them, but that he was interrupted; the 'porta
libitinaria'--the gate through which the dead or injured were usually
carried out, was thrown open, and a rabble of infuriated heathen rushed
in, crying: "Serapis is fallen! They have destroyed the image of
Serapis! The Christians are ruining the sanctuaries of the gods!"

A sudden panic seized the assembled multitude; the Reds rushed down from
their places into the arena to hear the details and ask questions--ready
to fight for the god or to fly for safety. In an instant the victor's
chariot was surrounded by an angry mob; Dada clutched it for protection,
and Marcus, without pausing to reflect--indeed hardly master of his own
actions--turned and lifted her into it by his side; then, urging his
horses forward, he forced a way through the crowd, past the caiceres. He
glanced anxiously up at the seats but could nowhere see his mother, so he
guided the exhausted beasts, steaming with sweat and dappled with foam,
through the open gate and out of the circus. His stable-slaves had run
after him; he released himself from the reins on his hips and flung them
to the grooms. Then he helped Dada to leap from the car.

"Will you come with me?" he asked her simply; and the girl's reply was:
"Wherever you bid me."