'The high
priest has slept before the altar of the gods!' he cried loudly, 'but
they have been patient with their well-beloved; their thunder has not
struck him for his crime! Now the servant returns to his service--the
rites of Serapis begin!'
Numerian still remained prostrate, spirit-broken; he slowly clasped his
hands together on the floor, and his voice was now to be heard, still
supplicating in low and stifled accents, as if in unceasing prayer lay
his last hope of preserving his own reason. 'God! Thou art the God of
Mercy; be merciful to him!' he murmured. 'Thou acceptest of repentance;
grant repentance to him! If at any time I have served Thee without
blame, let the service be counted to him; let the vials of Thy wrath be
poured out on me!'
'Hark! the trumpet blows for the sacrifice!' interrupted the raving
voice of the Pagan, as he turned from the altar, and extended his arms
in frenzied inspiration. 'The roar of music and the voice of exultation
soar upward from the highest mountain-tops! The incense smokes, and in
and out, and round and round, the dancers whirl about the pillars of the
temple! The ox for the sacrifice is without spot; his horns are gilt;
the crown and fillet adorn his head.
Pages:
750
751
752
753
754
755
756
757
758
759
760
761
762
763
764
765
766
767
768
769
770
771
772
773
774