“My dear, of course you have heard. It may be only rumor and yet,—he was suffering when he left Rome.”
“Ye Gods! do not say so! Mother, withdraw your words of bad omen. Naught has befallen him! It was but a slight fever.”
“So we esteemed it, but——”
“But, mother——” Domitia panted.
“The news are weighty, and concern you vastly, my daughter.”
“It is too horrible for me to think. Surely, surely, mother, it is false.”
“Hearken, my dear,—Lady Cornelia, come also to the top of the house. It is a fine situation for seeing and hearing, and out of all reach of eavesdroppers. I hear shouts, I hear horns blowing. Come—speedily! let us to the house-top.”
Laying hold of Domitia and the Vestal Superior by the wrists, she drew them with her to the roof.
The silence that had fallen on Rome had passed away, the town was now resonant with horns and trumpets pealing from the Prætorian camp, with the shouting of many voices from the same quarter. In the streets, messengers were running, armed with knotted sticks, and were hammering at the doors of Senators to summon them to an extraordinary meeting. The clash of arms resounded, so also the tramp of feet, as the city police marched in the direction of the Palatine. Here and there rose loud cries, but what they signified could not be judged.
In another moment Eboracus came out on the housetop, and hastening to his mistress, said:—