In that moment
the worst horrors of departure and death, the fiercest rackings of love
and despair, assailed but did not overcome him. In that moment he paid
his final tribute to the dues of affection, and braced for the last time
the fibres of manly dauntlessness and Spartan resolve!
The next instant he tore himself from the girl's arms, the old hero-
spirit of his conquering nation possessed every nerve in his frame, his
eye brightened again gloriously with its lost warrior-light, his limbs
grew firm, his face was calm, he confronted the Huns with a mien of
authority and a smile of disdain, and, as he presented to them his
defenceless breast, not the faintest tremor was audible in his voice,
while he cried in accents of steady command--
'Strike! I yield not!'
The Huns rushed forward with fierce cries, and buried their swords in
his body. His warm young blood gushed out upon the floor of the
dwelling which had been the love-shrine of the heart that shed it.
Without a sigh from his lips or a convulsion on his features, he fell
dead at the feet of his enemies; all the valour of his disposition, all
the gentleness of his heart, all the vigour of his form, resolved in one
humble instant into a senseless and burdensome mass!
Antonina beheld the assassination, but was spared the sight of the death
that followed it.
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