'Roar and mutter, and make your hurricane music in my ears!' exclaimed
the Pagan, raising his withered hands, and addressing in a savage
ecstacy his imagined deities. 'Your servant Ulpius stops not on the
journey that leads him to your repeopled shrines! Blood, crime, danger,
pain--pride and honour, joy and rest, have I strewn like sacrifices at
your altars' feet! Time has whirled past me; youth and manhood have
lain long since buried in the hidden Lethe which is the portion of life;
age has wreathed his coils over my body's strength, but still I watch by
your temples and serve your mighty cause! Your vengeance is near!
Monarchs of the world, your triumph is at hand!'
He remained for some time in the same position, looking fixedly up into
the trackless darkness above him, drinking in the sounds which--
alternately rising and sinking--still floated round him. The trembling
gleam of his lantern fell red and wild upon his livid countenance. His
shaggy hair floated in the cold breezes that blew by him.
Pages:
379
380
381
382
383
384
385
386
387
388
389
390
391
392
393
394
395
396
397
398
399
400
401
402
403