Both the girl's hands were clasped
over Hermanric's shoulder, and her head rested on them, turned from the
door towards the interior of the room, and so displaying her rich, black
hair in all its luxuriance. The head of the Goth was still sunk on his
breast, as though he were wrapped in a deep sleep, and his hands hung
listlessly side by side over the scabbard of his sheathed sword, which
lay across his knees. The fire flamed only at intervals, the fresh log
that had been placed on it not having been thoroughly kindled as yet.
Sometimes the light played on the white folds of Antonina's dress;
sometimes over the bright surface of Hermanric's cuirass, which he had
removed and laid by his side on the ground; sometimes over his sword,
and his hands, as they rested on it; but it was not sufficiently
powerful or lasting to illuminate the room, the walls and corners of
which it left in almost complete darkness.
The thunder still pealed from without, but the rain and wind had
partially lulled. The night hours had moved on more swiftly than our
narrative of the events that marked them.
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