In the street that leads to the gate of Herculaneum, Clodius now bent his perplexed and doubtful way.  ‘If I can gain the open country,’ thought he, ’doubtless there will be various vehicles beyond the gate, and Herculaneum is not far distant.  Thank Mercury!  I have little to lose, and that little is about me!’

‘Holla!—­help there—­help!’ cried a querulous and frightened voice.  ’I have fallen down—­my torch has gone out—­my slaves have deserted me.  I am Diomed—­the rich Diomed—­ten thousand sesterces to him who helps me!’

At the same moment, Clodius felt himself caught by the feet.  ’Ill fortune to thee—­let me go, fool,’ said the gambler.

‘Oh, help me up!—­give me thy hand!’

‘There—­rise!’

‘Is this Clodius?  I know the voice!  Whither fliest thou?’

‘Towards Herculaneum.’

’Blessed be the gods! our way is the same, then, as far as the gate.  Why not take refuge in my villa?  Thou knowest the long range of subterranean cellars beneath the basement—­that shelter, what shower can penetrate?’

‘You speak well,’ said Clodius musingly.  ’And by storing the cellar with food, we can remain there even some days, should these wondrous storms endure so long.’

‘Oh, blessed be he who invented gates to a city!’ cried Diomed.  ’See!—­they have placed a light within yon arch:  by that let us guide our steps.’

The air was now still for a few minutes:  the lamp from the gate streamed out far and clear:  the fugitives hurried on—­they gained the gate—­they passed by the Roman sentry; the lightning flashed over his livid face and polished helmet, but his stern features were composed even in their awe!  He remained erect and motionless at his post.  That hour itself had not animated the machine of the ruthless majesty of Rome into the reasoning and self-acting man.  There he stood, amidst the crashing elements:  he had not received the permission to desert his station and escape.

Diomed and his companion hurried on, when suddenly a female form rushed athwart their way.  It was the girl whose ominous voice had been raised so often and so gladly in anticipation of ‘the merry show’.

‘Oh, Diomed!’ she cried, ’shelter! shelter!  See’—­pointing to an infant clasped to her breast—­’see this little one!—­it is mine!—­the child of shame!  I have never owned it till this hour.  But now I remember I am a mother!  I have plucked it from the cradle of its nurse:  she had fled!  Who could think of the babe in such an hour, but she who bore it?  Save it! save it!’

‘Curses on thy shrill voice!  Away, harlot!’ muttered Clodius between his ground teeth.

‘Nay, girl,’ said the more humane Diomed; ’follow if thou wilt.  This way—­this way—­to the vaults!’

They hurried on—­they arrived at the house of Diomed—­they laughed aloud as they crossed the threshold, for they deemed the danger over.