Twice he heard her heavy footfall on
the steps--then there was an interval of deep silence--then a sharp,
grinding clash of metal echoed piercingly through the vault, followed by
the noise of a dull, heavy fall, faintly audible far beneath--and then
the old familiar sounds of the place were heard again, and were not
interrupted more. The sacrifice to the Dragon was achieved!
*****
The madman stood on the steps of the sacred building, and looked out on
the street shining before him in the bright Italian moonlight. No
remembrance of Numerian and Antonina, and of the earlier events in the
temple, remained within him. He was pondering imperfectly, in vague
pride and triumph, over the sacrifice that he had offered up at the
shrine of the Dragon of brass. Thus secretly exulting, he now remained
inactive. Absorbed in his wandering meditations, he delayed to trace
the subterranean passages leading to the iron grating where the corpse
of Goisvintha lay washed by the waters, as they struggled onward through
the bars, and waiting but his hand to be cast into the river, where all
past sacrifices had been engulphed before it.
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