with his thunder, to utter cries and
howls of vengeance and of death through the medium of his storm, and to
drown the fury of men in the whirl of his own.

Now a vivid flash of lightning rent the leaden sky overhead and searched
the dark corners of the atrium. Dea Flavia uttered an involuntary little
cry of terror, and hid her face in her hands.

A high wind howled among the trees outside the house; Dea could hear the
tiny branches cracking under the whip-lash of the blast, breaking away
from the parent stem and sending an eddy of dry dead leaves whirling
wildly along the narrow streets and into the open portals of the
vestibule. She could hear the fall of the torrential rain, and the
flames, which sacrilegious hands had kindled, dying away with
long-drawn-out hissing moans of pain. She could hear the wind in its
rage lashing those flames back into life again, and could see through
the opening overhead the huge volumes of black smoke chased across the
sky.

Smoke and flames were fighting an uneven battle against the persistent,
heavy rain. The wind was their ally, but he was gusty and fitful: now
and then helping them with all his might, fanning their activity and
renewing their strength, but after a violent outburst he would lie down
and rest, gathering strength mayhap, but giving the falling rain its
opportunity.

The rain had no need of rest; it fell, and fell, and fell, steadily and
torrentially, searching the weaker flames, killing them out one by one.

To Dea Flavia's straining senses it seemed clear that in this storm the
number of rebels had greatly diminished; none, no doubt, but the most
enthusiastic remained to face the discomforts of drenched skin and bone
chilled to the marrow. No doubt too the gale blowing the flames and
smoke hither and thither on the exposed slopes of the Palatine, had
rendered a stand in the open unmaintainable.

All this of course was mere conjecture, but the young girl, worn out
mentally and physically with the nerve strain of the past
four-and-twenty hours was grateful for the momentary sense of peace. The
steady fall of the rain acted soothingly upon her senses; her wearied
thoughts flew aimlessly hither and thither on the wings of her
imagination.

Only the storm frightened her because she was not sure if it were an
expression of Jove's wrath, or whether his mighty hand had only
scattered the infuriated populace so that she--Dea Flavia--could weigh
the destinies of Rome i