l. A frightened maid
had touched the torch to the tall candelabra, and the room blazed with
a score of lights; while in at the doorway pressed the multitude--the
mob of low tapsters, brutal butchers, coarse pedlers, and drunkards
just staggering from their cups. The scene was one of pandemonium.
Dumnorix lay prone on a costly rug, whose graceful patterns were being
dyed to a hideous crimson; over one divan lay a brigand--struggling in
the last agony of a mortal wound. Three comrades lay stretched stiff
and motionless on the floor. Gory swords and daggers were strewn all
over the atrium; the presses of costly wood had been torn open, their
contents scattered across the room. There was blood on the frescoes,
blood on the marble feet of the magnificent Diomedes, which stood
rigid in cold majesty on its pedestal, dominating the wreck below.

Agias with Fabia stood at the end of the atrium near the exit to the
peristylium. Demetrius, seemingly hardly breathed by his exertions,
leaned on his captured long sword at his cousin's side. The multitude,
for an instant, as they saw the ruin and slaughter, drew back with a
hush. Men turned away their faces as from a sight of evil omen. Who
were they to set foot in the mansion of the servants of the awful
Vesta? But others from behind, who saw and heard nothing, pressed
their fellows forward. The mob swept on. As with one consent all eyes
were riveted on Fabia. What had happened? Who was guilty? Why had
these men of violence done this wrong to the home of the hearth
goddess? And then out of a farther corner, while yet the people
hesitated from reverence, staggered a figure, its face streaming with
blood, its hands pressing its side.

"_Quirites_," cried a voice, the voice of one speaking with but one
remaining breath, "ye have rewarded me as the law demands; see that
_she_" and a bloody forefinger pointed at Fabia, "who led me to this
deed, is not unpunished. _She_ is the more guilty!"

And with a groan the figure fell like a statue of wood to the
pavement; fell heavily, and lay stirring not, neither giving any
sound. In his last moment Publius Gabinius had sought a terrible
revenge.

And then madness seized on the people.

"She is his sweetheart! She is his paramour!" cried a score of filthy
voices. "She has brought down this insult to the goddess! There is no
pontifex here to try her! Tear her in pieces! Strike! Slay!"

But Demetrius had turned to his cousin.

"Agias," he s