Empire and glory, his sacred nation, his
imperial bride; these, these were nothing. Their worth had vanished with
the creative soul that called them into action. The pure sympathies
of nature alone remained, and all his thought and grief, all his
intelligence, all his emotion, were centred in his sister.
It was the seventh morning. A guard entered at an unaccustomed hour,
and, sticking a torch into a niche in the wall, announced that a person
was without who had permission to speak to the prisoner. They were the
first human accents that had met the ear of Alroy during his captivity,
which seemed to him an age, a long dark period, that cancelled all
things. He shuddered at the harsh tones. He tried to answer, but his
unaccustomed lips refused their office. He raised his heavy arms, and
endeavoured to signify his consciousness of what had been uttered. Yet,
indeed, he had not listened to the message without emotion. He looked
forward to the grate with strange curiosity; and, as he looked, he
trembled. The visitor entered, muffled in a dark caftan. The guard
disappeared; and the caftan falling to the ground, revealed Honain.
'My beloved Alroy,' said the brother of Jabaster; and he advanced, and
pressed him to his bosom.
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