The grim, swarthy forms of the idols seemed to sway
and writhe like living things in torment, as fire and smoke alternately
displayed and concealed them. A deadly stillness now overspread the
face and form of the Pagan, as he looked down steadfastly on the deities
of his worship engendering his destruction beneath him. His cheek--the
cheek which had rested in boyhood on his mother's bosom--was pressed
against the gilded breast of the god Serapis, his taskmaster in life--
his pillow in death!
'I rise! I rise to the world of light, with my deities whom I have
served!' he murmured; 'the brightness of their presence is like a
flaming fire; the smoke of their breath pours forth around me like the
smoke of incense! I minister in the Temples of the Clouds; and the
glory of eternal sunlight shines round me while I adore! I rise! I
rise!'
The smoke whirled in black volumes over his head; the fierce voice of
the fast-spreading fire roared on him; the flames leapt up at his feet--
his robes kindled, burst into radiant light, as the pile yawned and
opened under him.
Pages:
782
783
784
785
786
787
788
789
790
791
792
793
794
795
796
797
798
799
800
801
802
803
804
805
806