Chapter V
THE CELL OF THE PRISONER AND THE DEN OF THE DEAD. GRIEF UNCONSCIOUS OF
HORROR.
STUNNED by his reprieve, doubting that he was awake, Glaucus had been led by
the officers of the arena into a small cell within the walls of the theatre.
They threw a loose robe over his form, and crowded round in congratulation
and wonder. There was an impatient and fretful cry without the cell; the
throng gave way, and the blind girl, led by some gentler hand, flung herself
at the feet of Glaucus.
'It is I who have saved thee,' she sobbed; now let me die!'
'Nydia, my child!--my preserver!'
'Oh, let me feel thy touch--thy breath! Yes, yes, thou livest! We are not
too late! That dread door, methought it would never yield! and Calenus--oh!
his voice was as the dying wind among tombs--we had to wait--gods! it seemed
hours ere food and wine restored to him something of strength. But thou
livest! thou livest yet! And I--I have saved thee!'
This affecting scene was soon interrupted by the event just described.
'The mountain! the earthquake!' resounded from side to side. The officers
fled with the rest; they left Glaucus and Nydia to save themselves as they
might.
As the sense of the dangers around them flashed on the Athenian, his
generous heart recurred to Olinthus. He, too, was reprieved from the tiger
by the hand of the gods; should he be left to a no less fatal death in the
neighboring cell? Taking Nydia by the hand, Glaucus hurried across the
passages; he gained the den of the Christian! He found Olinthus kneeling
and in prayer.
'Arise! arise! my friend,' he cried. 'Save thyself, and fly! See! Nature
is thy dread deliverer!' He led forth the bewildered Christian, and pointed
to a cloud which advanced darker and darker, disgorging forth showers of
ashes and pumice stones--and bade him hearken to the cries and trampling
rush of the scattered crowd.
'This is the hand of God--God be praised!' said Olinthus, devoutly.
'Fly! seek thy brethren!--Concert with them thy escape. Farewell!'
Olinthus did not answer, neither did he mark the retreating form of his
friend. High thoughts and solemn absorbed his soul: and in the enthusiasm
of his kindling heart, he exulted in the mercy of God rather than trembled
at the evidence of His power.
At length he roused himself, and hurried on, he scarce knew whither.
The open doors of a dark, desolate cell suddenly appeared on his path;
through the gloom within there flared and flickered a single lamp; and by
its light he saw three grim and naked forms stretched on the earth in death.
His feet were suddenly arrested; for, amidst the terror of that drear
recess--the spoliarium of the arena--he heard a low voice calling on the
name of Christ!
He could not resist lingering at that appeal: he entered the den, and his
feet were dabbled in the slow streams of blood that gushed from the corpses
over the sand.
'Who,' said the Nazarene, 'calls upon the son of God?'
No answer came forth; and turning round, Olinthus beheld, by the light of
the lamp, an old grey-headed man sitting on the floor, and supporting in his
lap the head of one of the dead. The features of the dead man were firmly
and rigidly locked in the last sleep; but over the lip there played a fierce
smile--not the Christian's smile of hope, but the dark sneer of hatred and
defiance. Yet on the face still lingered the beautiful roundness of early
youth. The hair curled thick and glossy over the unwrinkled brow; and the
down of manhood but slightly shaded the marble of the hueless cheek. And
over this face bent one of such unutterable sadness--of such yearning
tenderness--of such fond and such deep despair! The tears of the old man
fell fast and hot, but he did not feel them; and when his lips moved, and he
mechanically uttered the prayer of his benign and hopeful faith, neither his
heart nor his sense responded to the words: it was but the involuntary
emotion that broke from the lethargy of his mind. His boy was dead, and had
died for him!--and the old man's heart was broken!
'Medon!' said Olinthus, pityingly, 'arise, and fly! God is forth upon the
wings of the elements! The New Gomorrah is doomed!--Fly, ere the fires
consume thee!'
'He was ever so full of life!--he cannot be dead! Come hither!--place your
hand on his heart!--sure it beats yet?'
'Brother, the soul has fled! We will remember it in our prayers! Thou canst
not reanimate the dumb clay! Come, come--hark! while I speak, yon crashing
walls!--hark! yon agonizing cries! Not a moment is to be lost!--Come!'
'I hear nothing!' said Medon, shaking his grey hair. 'The poor boy, his
love murdered him!'
'Come! come! forgive this friendly force.'
'What! Who could sever the father from the son?' And Medon clasped the body
tightly in his embrace, and covered it with passionate kisses. 'Go!' said
he, lifting up his face for one moment. 'Go!--we must be alone!'
'Alas!' said the compassionate Nazarene, 'Death hath severed ye already!'
The old man smiled very calmly. 'No, no, no!' muttered, his voice growing
lower with each word--'Death has been more kind!'
With that his head drooped on His son's breast--his arms relaxed their
grasp. Olinthus caught him by the hand--the pulse had ceased to beat! The
last words of the father were the words of truth--Death had been more kind!
Meanwhile Glaucus and Nydia were pacing swiftly up the perilous and fearful
streets. The Athenian had learned from his preserver that Ione was yet in
the house of Arbaces. Thither he fled, to release--to save her! The few
slaves whom the Egyptian had left at his mansion when he had repaired in
long procession to the amphitheatre, had been able to offer no resistance to
the armed band of Sallust; and when afterwards the volcano broke forth, they
had huddled together, stunned and frightened, in the inmost recesses of the
house. Even the tall Ethiopian had forsaken his post at the door; and
Glaucus (who left Nydia without--the poor Nydia, jealous once more, even in
such an hour!) passed on through the vast hall without meeting one from whom
to learn the chamber of Ione. Even as he passed, however, the darkness that
covered the heavens increased so rapidly that it was with difficulty he
could guide his steps. The flower-wreathed columns seemed to reel and
tremble; and with every instant he heard the ashes fall cranchingly into the
roofless peristyle. He ascended to the upper rooms--breathless he paced
along, shouting out aloud the name of Ione; and at length he heard, at the
end of a gallery, a voice--her voice, in wondering reply! To rush
forward--to shatter the door--to seize Ione in his arms--to hurry from the
mansion--seemed to him the work of an instant! Scarce had he gained the
spot where Nydia was, than he heard steps advancing towards the house, and
recognized the voice of Arbaces, who had returned to seek his wealth and
Ione ere he fled from the doomed Pompeii. But so dense was already the
reeking atmosphere, that the foes saw not each other, though so near--save
that, dimly in the gloom, Glaucus caught the moving outline of the snowy
robes of the Egyptian.
They hastened onward--those three. Alas! whither? They now saw not a step
before them--the blackness became utter. They were encompassed with doubt
and horror!--and the death he had escaped seemed to Glaucus only to have
changed its form and augmented its victims.
