Suddenly the clamor boiled up into a mighty spout or geyser of noise, and the reason became manifest in another moment. The whole sky was lit by a sheet of flame of golden yellow. The conflagration had caught an oil merchant’s stores that were planted against the substructures supporting the temple. Columns, shoots of dazzling light rushed up against the rocks and the walls, recoiled, swept against them again, overleaped them and curled like tongues around the temple.
Instantly every sound ceased. The soldiers sheathed their swords. The citizens held their breath. Nothing for a few minutes was audible, save the mutter of the fire.
“My lady,” said Euphrosyne, coming to the roof, and addressing Longa Duilia, “A priest of Jupiter is below, and desires to speak with you.”
CHAPTER XVIII.
A REFUGEE.
“A priest of Jupiter here!” exclaimed Duilia. “When his temple is on fire! Bid him be off—but stay. Who let him in?”
“Lady, the Chaldæan introduced him.”
“He had no right to do so. Let him entertain him. I desire to see the end. Run. The roof is on fire—the eagles will be down—or melt away.”
“Lady! the Magian commissioned me to assure you that he bears an important communication.”