Gradually they sank and ceased, and stillness and
vacancy closed like dark veils over his mind. Starting like one
awakened from a trance he once more felt the torch in his hand, and once
more the expression of fierce desperation appeared in his eyes as he lit
it steadily at the lamp above him.
The dew was falling pure to the polluted earth; the light breezes sang
their low daybreak anthem among the leaves to the Power that bade them
forth; night had expired, and morning was already born of it, as
Vetranio, with the burning torch in his hand, advanced towards the
funeral pile.
He had already passed the greater part of the length of the room, when a
faint sound of footsteps ascending a private staircase which led to the
palace gardens, and communicated with the lower end of the banqueting-
hall by a small door of inlaid ivory, suddenly attracted his attention.
He hesitated in his deadly purpose, listening to the slow, regular
approaching sound, which, feeble though it was, struck mysteriously
impressive upon his ear in the dreary silence of all things around him.
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