The rain poured down more thickly than before; the thunder, once
aroused, now sounded in deep and frequent peals as Antonina raised
herself from the ground and looked around her, in momentary expectation
that the dreaded form of Ulpius must meet her eyes. No living creature
was visible in the street. The forsaken slave still reclined near the
wall of the house where she had first appeared when the Pagan gained the
approaches to the temple; but she now lay there dead. No fresh bands of
robbers appeared in sight. An uninterrupted solitude prevailed in all
directions as far as the eye could reach.
At the moment when Ulpius had relinquished his grasp of her hand,
Antonina had sunk to the ground, helpless and resigned, but not
exhausted beyond all power of sensation or all capacity for thought.
While she lay on the cold pavement of the street, her mind still pursued
its visions of a speedy death, and a tranquil life-in-death to succeed
it in a future state. But, as minute after minute elapsed, and no harsh
voice sounded in her ear, no pitiless hand dragged her from the ground,
no ominous footsteps were audible around her, a change passed gradually
over her thoughts; the instinct of self-preservation slowly revived
within her, and, as she raised herself to look forth on the gloomy
prospect, the chances of uninterrupted flight and present safety
presented by the solitude of the street, aroused her like a voice of
encouragement, like an unexpected promise of help.
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