It was at this time that the storm which the Egyptian had predicted began to creep visibly over them.  At first, a low and distant thunder gave warning of the approaching conflict of the elements; and then rapidly rushed above the dark ranks of the serried clouds.  The suddenness of storms in that climate is something almost preternatural, and might well suggest to early superstition the notion of a divine agency—­a few large drops broke heavily among the boughs that half overhung their path, and then, swift and intolerably bright, the forked lightning darted across their very eyes, and was swallowed up by the increasing darkness.

‘Swifter, good Carrucarius!’ cried Glaucus to the driver; ’the tempest comes on apace.’

The slave urged on the mules—­they went swift over the uneven and stony road—­the clouds thickened, near and more near broke the thunder, and fast rushed the dashing rain.

‘Dost thou fear?’ whispered Glaucus, as he sought excuse in the storm to come nearer to Ione.

‘Not with thee,’ said she, softly.

At that instant, the carriage, fragile and ill-contrived (as, despite their graceful shapes, were, for practical uses, most of such inventions at that time), struck violently into a deep rut, over which lay a log of fallen wood; the driver, with a curse, stimulated his mules yet faster for the obstacle, the wheel was torn from the socket, and the carriage suddenly overset.

Glaucus, quickly extricating himself from the vehicle, hastened to assist Ione, who was fortunately unhurt; with some difficulty they raised the carruca (or carriage), and found that it ceased any longer even to afford them shelter; the springs that fastened the covering were snapped asunder, and the rain poured fast and fiercely into the interior.

In this dilemma, what was to be done?  They were yet some distance from the city—­no house, no aid, seemed near.

‘There is,’ said the slave, ’a smith about a mile off; I could seek him, and he might fasten at least the wheel to the carruca—­but, Jupiter! how the rain beats; my mistress will be wet before I come back.’

‘Run thither at least,’ said Glaucus; ’we must find the best shelter we can till you return.’

The lane was overshadowed with trees, beneath the amplest of which Glaucus drew Ione.  He endeavored, by stripping his own cloak, to shield her yet more from the rapid rain; but it descended with a fury that broke through all puny obstacles:  and suddenly, while Glaucus was yet whispering courage to his beautiful charge, the lightning struck one of the trees immediately before them, and split with a mighty crash its huge trunk in twain.  This awful incident apprised them of the danger they braved in their present shelter, and Glaucus looked anxiously round for some less perilous place of refuge.  ‘We are now,’ said he, ’half-way up the ascent of Vesuvius; there ought to be some cavern, or hollow in the vine-clad