Glaucus shouted her name. No answer came. They retraced their steps--in vain: they could not discover her--it was evident she had been swept along some opposite direction by the human current. Their friend, their preserver, was lost! And hitherto Nydia had been their guide. Her blindness rendered the scene familiar to her alone. Accustomed, through a perpetual night, to thread the windings of the city, she had led them unerringly towards the sea-shore, by which they had resolved to hazard an escape. Now, which way could they wend? all was rayless to them--a maze without a clue. Wearied, despondent, bewildered, they, however, passed along, the ashes falling upon their heads, the fragmentary stones dashing up in sparkles before their feet.
'Alas! alas!' murmured Ione, 'I can go no farther; my steps sink among the scorching cinders. Fly, dearest!--beloved, fly! and leave me to my fate!'
'Hush, my betrothed! my bride! Death with thee is sweeter than life without thee! Yet, whither--oh! whither, can we direct ourselves through the gloom?
Already it seems that we have made but a circle, and are in the very spot which we quitted an hour ago.'
'O gods! yon rock--see, it hath riven the roof before us! It is death to move through the streets!'
'Blessed lightning! See, Ione--see! the portico of the Temple of Fortune is before us. Let us creep beneath it; it will protect us from the showers.'
He caught his beloved in his arms, and with difficulty and labor gained the temple. He bore her to the remoter and more sheltered part of the portico, and leaned over her, that he might shield her, with his own form, from the lightning and the showers! The beauty and the unselfishness of love could hallow even that dismal time!
'Who is there?' said the trembling and hollow voice of one who had preceded them in their place of refuge. 'Yet, what matters?--the crush of the ruined world forbids to us friends or foes.'
Ione turned at the sound of the voice, and, with a faint shriek, cowered again beneath the arms of Glaucus: and he, looking in the direction of the voice, beheld the cause of her alarm. Through the darkness glared forth two burning eyes--the lightning flashed and lingered athwart the temple--and Glaucus, with a shudder, perceived the lion to which he had been doomed couched beneath the pillars--and, close beside it, unwitting of the vicinity, lay the giant form of him who had accosted them--the wounded gladiator, Niger.
That lightning had revealed to each other the form of beast and man; yet the instinct of both was quelled. Nay, the lion crept nearer and nearer to the gladiator, as for companionship; and the gladiator did not recede or tremble. The revolution of Nature had dissolved her lighter terrors as well as her wonted ties.
While they were thus terribly protected, a group of men and women, bearing torches, passed by the temple. They were of the congregation of the Nazarenes; and a sublime and unearthly emotion had not, indeed, quelled their awe, but it had robbed awe of fear. They had long believed, according to the error of the early Christians, that the Last Day was at hand; they imagined now that the Day had come.
'Woe! woe!' cried, in a shrill and piercing voice, the elder at their head.
'Behold! the Lord descendeth to judgment! He maketh fire come down from heaven in the sight of men! Woe! woe! ye strong and mighty! Woe to ye of the fasces and the purple! Woe to the idolater and the worshipper of the beast! Woe to ye who pour forth the blood of saints, and gloat over the death-pangs of the sons of God! Woe to the harlot of the sea!--woe! woe!'
And with a loud and deep chorus, the troop chanted forth along the wild horrors of the air, 'Woe to the harlot of the sea!--woe! woe!'
The Nazarenes paced slowly on, their torches still flickering in the storm, their voices still raised in menace and solemn warning, till, lost amid the windings in the streets, the darkness of the atmosphere and the silence of death again fell over the scene.
There was one of the frequent pauses in the showers, and Glaucus encouraged Ione once more to proceed. just as they stood, hesitating, on the last step of the portico, an old man, with a bag in his right hand and leaning upon a youth, tottered by. The youth bore a torch. Glaucus recognized the two as father and son--miser and prodigal.
'Father,' said the youth, 'if you cannot move more swiftly, I must leave you, or we both perish!'
'Fly, boy, then, and leave thy sire!'
'But I cannot fly to starve; give me thy bag of gold!' And the youth snatched at it.
'Wretch! wouldst thou rob thy father?'
'Ay! who can tell the tale in this hour? Miser, perish!'
The boy struck the old man to the ground, plucked the bag from his relaxing hand, and fled onward with a shrill yell.
'Ye gods!' cried Glaucus: 'are ye blind, then, even in the dark? Such crimes may well confound the guiltless with the guilty in one common ruin. Ione, on!--on!'
