She, poor girl, had set out bravely enough; but once outside of the Atrium Vestae every shadow had been a refuge of cutthroats, every noise the oncoming of goblins.
Fortunately for her, she did not know the contents of the tablets she carried pressed to her breast, or she would have been all the more timorous.

Once a few half-sober topers screamed ribald words after her, as she stole past a low tavern.

She had lost her way, in the darkness and fright, among the alleys; she had dodged into a doorway more than once to hide from approaching night rovers.

But at last she had reached her destination, and, pale and weary, placed the letter in Agias's hands.

The young Greek read and grew grave.