Rome. He upon the black horse, with
the crimson crest and the terrible eyes! But I fear him no longer.
Look, children! that man forced your father to keep watch on the walls
day and night, until he fell dead. Curses on the Prefect of Rome!"

And she shook her fist at the immovable horseman.

"Bread, mother! Give us something to eat," howled the children.

"I have nothing more for you to eat, but plenty to drink! Come!"
screamed the woman, and, clasping the elder child round the waist with
her right arm, and pressing the younger more firmly to her bosom, she
cast herself over the wall into the river.

A cry of horror, followed by curses, ran through the crowd.

"She was mad!" said the Prefect in a loud voice, and rode on.

"No, she was the wisest of us all!" cried a voice from the crowd.

"Silence! Legionaries, sound the trumpets! Forwards! To the Forum!"
commanded Cethegus, and the troop of horsemen galloped away.

Across the Fabrician Bridge and through the Carmentalian Gate, the
Prefect arrived in the Forum Romanum at the foot of the Capitoline
Hill.

The wide space appeared almost empty; the few thousand people who, clad
in miserable garments, crouched upon the steps of the temple and halls,
or supported themselves on their staffs or spears, made little
impression.

"What does the Prefect want?"--"What can he want? we have nothing left
but our lives."--"And those he will--" "Do you know that the day before
yesterday the coast town Centumcellae surrendered to the Goths?"--"Yes;
the citizens overpowered the Prefect's Isaurians and opened the
gates."--"Would that we could follow their example!"--"We must do it
soon, or it will be too late."--"Yesterday my brother fell down dead,
some boiled nettles still in his mouth. He was too weak to swallow the
mess."---"Yesterday in the Forum Boarium a mouse was sold for its
weight in gold!"--"For a week I got roasted meat from a butcher--he
would not sell the flesh raw."--"You were lucky! They storm all houses
where they smell roast meat!"--"But the day before yesterday he was
torn to pieces by the mob, for he had enticed beggar-children into his
house--and that was the flesh he had sold us!"--"But do you know what
the Gothic King does with his prisoners? He treats them as a father
treats his helpless children; and most of them enter his army at
once."--"Yes, and those who will not he provides with money for the
journey."--"Yes, and with clothes and shoes and provisions