gigantic marble pillars above the temples below,
a huge column of flames had shot upwards to the sky. And a cry, louder
than before and more distinct, came clearly from afar.

"Death to the Caesar! Death!"

"Ye gods protect him," murmured Dea Flavia fervently.

"They'll murder him! they'll murder him!" shouted Licinia at the top of
her trembling voice.

She had fallen on her knees and the other women squatted round her like
a huddled-up mass of terror-stricken humanity, with hair undone and
pale, quivering lips and staring eyes dilated with fear.

But Dea Flavia, now that she was dressed, took no further notice of
them; she left them there on the floor, moaning and whimpering, and
hurried out into the atrium. Here too the sense of terror filled the
air. Beyond the colonnaded arcade in the corridors and the peristyle
could be seen groups of slaves--men and women--squatting together with
head meeting head in eager gossip, or clinging to one another in a state
of abject cowardice.

Here too, through the open vestibule, the sounds from the streets came
louder and more clear. That awful cry of "Death" echoed with appalling
distinctness, and to Dea Flavia's strained senses it seemed as if they
were mingled with others, more awesome mayhap, but equally ominous of
"The praefect of Rome! Where is the praefect of Rome! Hail! Taurus
Antinor! Hail."

The noise grew louder and louder, and from where she stood now--it
seemed to her that she could trace in her mind the progress of the
rebels, as they spread themselves from the foot of the Palatine and from
the Forum, upwards to the heights until they had the palace of the Caesar
completely surrounded.

It was from there that weird cries of terror came incessantly, and in
imagination Dea saw an army of cowardly, panic-stricken slaves, huddled
together as her own women had been, with palsied limbs and chattering
teeth, whilst a handful of faithful men of the praetorian guard were
alone left to protect the sacred person of the Caesar.

Above her, through the apertures in the tiled roof, she could see the
sky aglow with lurid crimson, and the smell of burning wood and of
charred stuffs filled her nostrils with their pungent odour.

"Death to the Caesar! Death!" The cry seemed almost at her door. Only the
Palace of Tiberius, with its great empty halls and basilicas stood
between her and the rallying-point of the rebels.

She called loudly for Tertius--her comptroller--and he