spite of the blare of trumpets, and shrieks and
butchery; but Herse's kerchief was dyed and soaked with her husband's
blood, and the old man's eyes were glazed and staring as they wandered
feebly on the scene, as though to get a last general picture of the
world in which they had always sought to see only what was fair.
Suddenly they remained fixed on the face of a statue of Apollo, which
had been flung on to the barricade; and the longer they dwelt on the
beautiful countenance of the god the more they sparkled with a clear
transfigured gleam. Once more, with a final effort, he raised his heavy
hand and pointed to the sun-crowned head of the immortal youth while he
softly murmured:

"He--he--all that was fair in existence--Orpheus, Herse--we owe it all
to him. He dies with us.--They--the enemy--in conquering us conquer
thee! They dream of a Paradise beyond death; but where thou reignest, O
Phoebus, there is bliss even on earth! They boast that they love death
and hate life; and when they are the victors they will destroy lute and
pipe, nay, if they could, would exterminate beauty and extinguish
the sun. This beautiful happy world they would have dark, gloomy,
melancholy, hideous; thy kingdom, great Phoebus, is sunny, joyful and
bright...!" Here his strength failed him; but presently he rallied once
more and went on, with eager eyes: "We crave for light, for music,
lutes and pipes--for perfumed flowers on careless brows--we--hold me
up Herse--and thou, heal me, O Phoebus Apollo!--Hail, all hail! I thank
thee--thou hast accepted much from me and hast given me all! Come, thou
joy of my soul! Come in thy glorious chariot, attended by Muses and
Hours! See, Orpheus, Herse--do you see Him coming?"

He pointed with a confident gesture to the distance; and his anxious
eyes followed the indication of his hand; he raised himself a little
by a last supreme effort; but instantly fell back; his head sank on
the bosom of his faithful partner and a stream of blood flowed from
his quivering lips. The votary of the Muses was dead; and a few minutes
after Orpheus, too, fell senseless.

War-cries and trumpet-calls rang and echoed through the Serapeum. The
battle was now a hand-to-hand fight; the besiegers had surmounted
the barricade and stood face to face with the heathen. Herse saw them
coming; she snatched the dart from her husband's wound, and fired by
hatred and a wild thirst for vengeance, she rushed upon the besiegers
with frant