'
Again she paused, and again no reply awaited her. Still the Goth
neither moved nor spoke, and still Antonina--kneeling unconsciously upon
the sword, now useless to him for ever--continued to stanch the blood on
his hands with a mechanical earnestness that seemed to shut out the
contemplation of every other object from her eyes. The tears streamed
incessantly down her cheeks, but she never turned towards Goisvintha,
never suspended her occupation.
Meanwhile, the fire still blazed noisily on the cheerful hearth; but the
storm, as if disdaining the office of heightening the human horror of
the farm-house scene, was rapidly subsiding. The thunder pealed less
frequently and less loudly, the wind fell into intervals of noiseless
calm, and occasionally the moonlight streamed, in momentary brightness,
through the ragged edges of the fast breaking clouds. The breath of the
still morning was already moving upon the firmament of the stormy night.
'Has life its old magic for you yet?' continued Goisvintha, in tones of
pitiless reproach.
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