“Ye Gods!” spoke Domitia, she could not raise her voice above a whisper. “Then the worst has happened. My light is out once more.”
CHAPTER IV.
ANOTHER APPEAL.
On reaching the street, Domitia saw at once that the aspect of the populace was changed. Instead of the busy hum of trade, the calls of hucksters, the laugh of the mirthful, a stillness had come on every one; no face smiled, no voice was raised, scarcely any person moved.
Those who had been bustling here and there stood motionless, trade had ceased. A sudden frost had arrested the flow of life and reduced all its manifestations to the lowest term. Such as had been running about collected in clusters, and conversed in whispers. Blank faces looked at Domitia as she entered her litter, with awed respect.
“Eboracus! What is the meaning of this?” asked the lady.
“Madam, I know not. None will confide what they seem to know or to suspect.”
“Go forward,” said she, “I will visit my mother in the Carinæ. She will know everything.”
In another moment her train was in movement, and as she passed along, all bowed and saluted with their hands; they had done as much previously, but without the earnestness that was now observable. In the heart of Domitia was as it were a blade of ice transpiercing it. She was in deadly alarm lest her surmise should prove true.