The appointed day came; and Fabiola, in her mourning habits, worn both as a suppliant, and for her father’s death, took her stand in a row of far more wretched creatures than herself, mothers, children, sisters, who held petitions for mercy, for those clearest to them, now in dungeons or mines. She felt the little hope she had entertained die within her at the sight of so much wretchedness, too much for it all to expect favor. But fainter grew its last spark, at every step that the tyrant took down the marble stairs, though she saw her brilliant ring sparkling on his coarse hand. For on each step he snatched a paper from some sorrowful suppliant, looked at it scornfully, and either tore it up, or dashed it on the ground. Only here and there, he handed one to his secretary, a man scarcely less imperious than himself. It was now nearly Fabiola’s turn: the emperor was only two steps above her, and her heart beat violently, not from fear of man, but from anxiety about Sebastian’s fate. She would have prayed, had she known how, or to whom. Maximian was stretching out his hand to take a paper offered to him, when he drew back, and turned round, on hearing his name most unceremoniously and peremptorily called out. Fabiola looked up too; for she knew the voice. Opposite to her, high in the white marble wall, she had observed an open window, corniced in yellow marble, which gave light to a back corridor leading to where Irene’s apartments were. She now looked up, guided by the voice, and in the dark panel of the window, a beautiful but awful picture was seen. It was Sebastian, wan and thin, who, with features almost etherealized, calm and stern, as if no longer capable of passion, or strong emotion, stood there before them; his lacerated breast and arms appearing amidst the loose drapery he had thrown around him. For he had heard the familiar trumpet-notes, which told him of the emperor’s approach, and he had risen, and crept thus far, to greet him.[190] “Maximian!” he cried out, in a hollow but distinct voice. “Who art thou, sirrah! that makest so free with thine emperor’s name?” asked the tyrant, turning upon him.