the same instant drawn violently back both
by my chains and the arms of those who guarded me. The tormentors
descended from their engines to fulfil the commands of Fronto, and,
laying hold of Julia, bore her, without an opposing word, or look, or
motion, toward their instruments of death. And they were already binding
her limbs to the accursed wheels, while Fronto and Varus both drew nigh
to gloat over her agonies, when a distant sound, as of the ocean lashed
by winds, broke upon the ears of all within that hell. Even the
tormentors paused in their work, and looked at each other and at Fronto,
as if asking what it should mean.

The silence of death fell upon the crowd--every ear strained to catch
the still growing sound and interpret it.

''Tis but the winter wind!' cried Fronto. 'On, cowards, with your work!'

But, ere the words had left his lips, or those demons could wind the
wheels of their engine, the appalling tumult of a multitude rushing
toward the temple became too fearfully distinct for even Pronto or Varus
to pretend to doubt its meaning. But why it was, or for what, none could
guess; only upon the terror-struck forms of both the Prefect and the
Priest might be read apprehensions of hostility that from some quarter
was aiming at themselves. Fronto's voice was again heard:

'Bar the great doors of the temple! let not the work of the gods be
profanely violated.'

But the words were too late; for, while he was yet speaking, O Fausta,
how shall I paint my agony of joy! there was heard from the street and
from the porch of the temple itself the shouts of as it were ten
thousand voices,

"Tacitus is Emperor!" "Long live the good Tacitus!"

Freedom and life were in those cries. The crowds from the streets swept
in at the doors like an advancing torrent. Varus and Fronto, followed by
their myrmidons, vanished through secret doors in the walls behind them,
and among the first to greet me and strike the chains from my limbs were
Isaac and Demetrius.

'And where is the lady Julia?' cried Isaac.

'There!'

He flew to the platform, and, turning back the wheels, Julia was once
more in my arms.

'And now,' I cried, 'what means it all? Am I awake or do I dream?'

'You are awake,' replied Demetrius. 'The tyrant is dead! and the senate
and people all cry out for Tacitus.'

I now looked about me. The mob of priests was fled, and around me I
beheld a thousand well-known faces of those who already had been
relea