"Ha! has your lightning failed?" cried the Queen. "But mortals, too, can use the lightning of revenge." And she left the window. The room became suddenly dark. "Queen--mistress--where art thou? Whither hast thou gone?" cried Aspa. And she felt along the walls. But the room was empty, and Aspa called her mistress in vain. Below in the streets a procession wound its way to the Basilica of Saint Apollonaris. Romans and Goths; children and old people; very many women. Boys with torches walked first; behind came priests with crucifix and banners. Through the growling of the thunder and the roaring of the wind sounded the ancient and solemn chorus: "Dulce mihi cruciari, Parva vis doloris est; Malo mori quam f[oe]dari; Major vis amoris est." And the choir answered: "Parce, judex, contristatis Parce pecatoribus, Qui descendis perflammatis Ultor jam in nubibus." And the procession disappeared into the church. The overseers of the corn-magazines had also joined the crowd of worshippers. Upon the steps of the Basilica, exactly opposite the door of the magazines, sat the woman in the brown mantle, calm and fearless amid the uproar of the elements; her hands not folded, but resting quietly on her lap. The man in the steel cap stood near her. A Gothic woman, who was just hurrying into the church, recognised her by the light of a flash of lightning. "Thou here again, countrywoman? Without shelter? I have offered thee my house, often enough. Thou appearest strange here in Ravenna?" "I am so; but still I have a lodging." "Come into the church and pray with us." "I pray here." "But thou neither singest nor speakest." "Yet still God hears me." "Pray for the city. They fear that the end of the world is at hand." "I am not afraid." "Pray for our good King, who daily gives us bread." "I do pray for him." Just then two Gothic patrols came clattering round the corner, and met opposite the Basilica. "Aye, thunder till the skies crack!" scolded the leader of one of the bands; "but do not hinder me in my duty. Halt! Wisand, is it thou? Where is the King? In the church also?" "No, Hildebad; upon the walls." "That is right; that is his place. Forwards! Long live the King!" Their steps died away. A Roman tutor, with some of his pupils, passed by. "But, magister," said the youngest boy, "I thought you were going to the church? Why do you take us out in this storm?" "I only spoke of church to get you out of the house. Church! I tell you, the fewer roofs and walls about one the better. I am going to take you out into the great meadow in the suburbs. I wish it would rain. If Vesuvius were near, as it is in my native place, I should think that Ravenna was about to become a second Herculaneum. I know such an atmosphere as we have to-day--it is dangerous." And they went on.