As the sun I
rose, like him I set. Still the world is warm with my bright fame, and
my last hour shall not disgrace my noon, stormy indeed, but glorious!'
Honain took the torch from the niche, and advanced to the grate. It
was not fastened: he drew it gently open, and led forward a veiled and
female figure. The veiled and female figure threw herself at the feet of
Alroy, who seemed lost to what was passing. A soft lip pressed his hand.
He started, his chains clanked.
'Alroy!' softly murmured the kneeling female.
'What voice is that?' wildly exclaimed the Prince of the Captivity. 'It
falls upon my ear like long-forgotten music. I'll not believe it. No!
I'll not believe it. Art thou Schirene?'
'I am that wretched thing they called thy bride.'
'Oh! this indeed is torture! What impalement can equal this sharp
moment? Look not on me, let not our eyes meet! They have met before,
like to the confluence of two shining rivers blending in one great
stream of rushing light. Bear off that torch, sir. Let impenetrable
darkness cover our darker fortunes.'
'Alroy.'
'She speaks again. Is she mad, as I am, that thus she plays with agony?'
'Sire,' said Honain advancing, and laying his hand gently on the arm of
the captive, 'I pray thee moderate this passion.
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