She sat down on a piece of broken timber and put one arm across her
face. He waited--then approaching his lips to her ear: "Let us go," he
whispered.
"Never--never from here," she cried out, flinging her arms above her
head.
He stooped over her, and her raised arms fell upon his shoulders. He
lifted her up, steadied himself and began to walk, looking straight
before him.
"What are you doing?" she asked, feebly.
"I am escaping from my enemies," he said, never once glancing at his
light burden.
"With me?" she sighed, helplessly.
"Never without you," he said. "You are my strength."
He pressed her close to him. His face was grave and his footsteps
steady. The conflagrations bursting out in the ruins of destroyed
villages dotted the plain with red fires; and the sounds of distant
lamentations, the cries of Misericordia! Misericordia! made a desolate
murmur in his ears. He walked on, solemn and collected, as if carrying
something holy, fragile, and precious.
The earth rocked at times under his feet.