gs, sweeping around toward the east, seemed to dwindle into the
distance, even as they drew nearer, while the low jumble of Neapolitan
hills, beyond which towered Vesuvius with its fluttering pennon of
vapour, rose higher and higher upon the southern horizon. A turn of
the road, a temporary makeshift, led them around Casilinum, whose
little garrison lay close, nor opened their gates to friend or foe.
There, at last, in the midst of the level plain that stretched down to
the sea, lay Capua, gleaming white and radiant beneath the brush of the
now descending sun.

Gradually the great sweep of city walls grew lowering and massive. It
still lacked an hour of sunset, and the travellers had not urged
themselves unduly through the midday course. The foam, yellowed and
darkened by dust, had dried upon the horses' flanks save only where the
chafing of the harness kept it fresh and white. Marcia leaned far out
of the rheda and gazed eagerly at the nearing town, Caipor seemed
scarcely able to restrain his eagerness to dash forward, while Ligurius
shaded his eyes with his hand and viewed the spectacle like a general
counting the power of his approaching foe. Even at this distance they
saw, or began to imagine they saw, some indescribable change,--not a
flurry of motion or excitement,--they were too far away to note that,
had such been present. It was as though above, around every tower and
battlement hung an atmosphere of hostility and defiance; yet this was
the friend of Rome through days of weal and days of woe,--the second
city of Italy.

Nearer and nearer they drew. The horses threw their heads in the air,
and, presaging rest and provender, quickened their pace, without
urging. Suddenly an exclamation burst from the lips of Ligurius.

"Look!" he cried. "It is true. They are indeed here." Marcia and
Caipor strove to follow his hand. "My northern eyes, old though they
be, are better than yours of the south. Do you not see them--one, two,
three! Gods! They are thick on the walls."

"What? in the name of Jove!" exclaimed Marcia, impatiently, and then
Caipor started.

"I see! I see now," he cried. "Ah! mistress, they are the standards
of Carthage; the horses' heads, yellow, with red manes. Gods, how they
glitter! Gold and blood--gold and blood!"

"Drive on," said Marcia, for they had all drawn rein, half
unconsciously, and she lay back, behind the curtains of the rheda.

II.

THE GATE.

A harsh cr