after a second dreadful blow that had been dealt it in the dark; and, with a kind of vague expectation that it might have some weapon upon it, Antar turned it over.
Then he started backwards, and buried his face in his trembling hands.
Those pale, dead lips, from between which the blood was slowly trickling, were the lips of Antar's younger brother, Gorro; Gorro whom as a boy he had played with and fondled; Gorro whom as a man he had quarrelled with; Gorro whom now he had slain!
With a great cry of terror Antar rushed wildly from the recess into the long, vaulted gallery without; nor did he stay till in his blind and despairing madness he fell headlong against the cold, hard rock, and sank bleeding and senseless to the earth.
And in the treasure-cave the torch burnt low, and fluttered, and went out, leaving the dead alone in the silence and the darkness. And far away Rheda sat weeping and waiting for Antar, who returned not. The coldness of death was
