THE CELL OF THE PRISONER AND THE DEN OF THE DEAD. GRIEF UNCONSCIOUS OF HORROR.
STUNNED by his reprieve, doubting that he was awake, Glaucus had been led by the officers of the arena into a small cell within the walls of the theatre. They threw a loose robe over his form, and crowded round in congratulation and wonder. There was an impatient and fretful cry without the cell; the throng gave way, and the blind girl, led by some gentler hand, flung herself at the feet of Glaucus. 'It is I who have saved thee,' she sobbed; now let me die!' 'Nydia, my child!--my preserver!' 'Oh, let me feel thy touch--thy breath! Yes, yes, thou livest! We are not too late! That dread door, methought it would never yield! and Calenus--oh! his voice was as the dying wind among tombs--we had to wait--gods! it
