. The sorceress of Rome. dt fixed his straining eyeson the dark form of Hezilo the harper, whom no humanintervention could save from his terrible doom. Whether hiseagerness, to avenge his dead child or heir betrayer, had carriedhim too far, whether in his fruitless search for the Chamber-lain he had grown oblivious of the perils besetting his path,whether too late he had thought of retreat, — clearly definedagainst the lurid, flame-swept horizon his tall dark form stoodout on the crest of the tower; — another moment of breathlesshorrid suspense and the tower collapsed with a deafeningcrash, ca
. The sorceress of Rome. dt fixed his straining eyeson the dark form of Hezilo the harper, whom no humanintervention could save from his terrible doom. Whether hiseagerness, to avenge his dead child or heir betrayer, had carriedhim too far, whether in his fruitless search for the Chamber-lain he had grown oblivious of the perils besetting his path,whether too late he had thought of retreat, — clearly definedagainst the lurid, flame-swept horizon his tall dark form stoodout on the crest of the tower; — another moment of breathlesshorrid suspense and the tower collapsed with a deafeningcrash, carrying its lonely occupant to his perhaps self-electeddoom. All that night Eckhardt knelt by the dead body of his the bleak, gray dawn of the rising day broke over thecrest of the Sabine hills he rose, and went away. Soon after acompany of monks appeared and carried Theodoras remainsto the mortuary chapel of San Pancrazio, where they were tobe laid to their last and eternal rest. 422 CHAPTER XVIII VALE ROMA. T was the eve of All Souls Dayin the year nine hundred ninetynine, — the day so fitly recallingthe fleeting glories of summer,of youth, of life, a day ofmemories and tributes offeredup to the departed. Afar to westward the stm,red as a buckler fallen fromVulcan, still cast his burningreflections. On the horizon with changing stmset tints glowedthe departing orb, brightening the crimson and russet foUageon terrace and garden walls. At last the burning disk dis-appeared amid a mass of opalescent clouds, which had risenin the west; the fading sunset hues swooned to the gray oftwilight and the breath of scanty flowers, the odour of deadleaves touched the air with perfume faint as the rememberedpathos of autumn. No breeze stirred the dead leaves stillclinging to their branches, no sound broke the silence, savefrom a cloister the hum of many droning voices. Now andthen the air was touched with the fragrance of hayfields, re-claimed here and there upon the Campagna
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