‘Alas! alas!’ murmured Ione, ’I can go no farther; my steps sink among the scorching cinders.  Fly, dearest!—­beloved, fly! and leave me to my fate!’

’Hush, my betrothed! my bride!  Death with thee is sweeter than life without thee!  Yet, whither—­oh! whither, can we direct ourselves through the gloom?  Already it seems that we have made but a circle, and are in the very spot which we quitted an hour ago.’

’O gods! yon rock—­see, it hath riven the roof before us!  It is death to move through the streets!’

’Blessed lightning!  See, Ione—­see! the portico of the Temple of Fortune is before us.  Let us creep beneath it; it will protect us from the showers.’

He caught his beloved in his arms, and with difficulty and labor gained the temple.  He bore her to the remoter and more sheltered part of the portico, and leaned over her, that he might shield her, with his own form, from the lightning and the showers!  The beauty and the unselfishness of love could hallow even that dismal time!

‘Who is there?’ said the trembling and hollow voice of one who had preceded them in their place of refuge.  ’Yet, what matters?—­the crush of the ruined world forbids to us friends or foes.’

Ione turned at the sound of the voice, and, with a faint shriek, cowered again beneath the arms of Glaucus:  and he, looking in the direction of the voice, beheld the cause of her alarm.  Through the darkness glared forth two burning eyes—­the lightning flashed and lingered athwart the temple—­and Glaucus, with a shudder, perceived the lion to which he had been doomed couched beneath the pillars—­and, close beside it, unwitting of the vicinity, lay the giant form of him who had accosted them—­the wounded gladiator, Niger.

That lightning had revealed to each other the form of beast and man; yet the instinct of both was quelled.  Nay, the lion crept nearer and nearer to the gladiator, as for companionship; and the gladiator did not recede or tremble.  The revolution of Nature had dissolved her lighter terrors as well as her wonted ties.

While they were thus terribly protected, a group of men and women, bearing torches, passed by the temple.  They were of the congregation of the Nazarenes; and a sublime and unearthly emotion had not, indeed, quelled their awe, but it had robbed awe of fear.  They had long believed, according to the error of the early Christians, that the Last Day was at hand; they imagined now that the Day had come.

‘Woe! woe!’ cried, in a shrill and piercing voice, the elder at their head.  ’Behold! the Lord descendeth to judgment!  He maketh fire come down from heaven in the sight of men!  Woe! woe! ye strong and mighty!  Woe to ye of the fasces and the purple!  Woe to the idolater and the worshipper of the beast!  Woe to ye who pour forth the blood of saints, and gloat over the death-pangs of the sons of God!  Woe to the harlot of the sea!—­woe! woe!’