And with surprising strength he dragged the Greek, who resisted with all her power, up beside him, swung her upon the broad pedestal of the statue, and tore wildly at the white silk coverlet which, while on the ship, Glauke had thrown over her shoulders, and the transparent Coan robe. "Stop! Stop, beloved! Do not dishonor me before all eyes!" pleaded the girl, struggling in despair. "Stop--or by the Most High--" But the Vandal, who had lost all self-control, laughed loudly. "Away with the envious veil!" Once more he pulled down the coverlet and the robe. Steel flashed in the light (the Ionian had snatched the knife from the pedestal), a warm red stream sprinkled Thrasabad's face, and the slight figure, already crimsoned with blood, sank at the feet of the marble statue. "Glauke!" cried the Vandal, suddenly sobered by the shock. But at the same moment, outside the Amphitheatre rose in a note of menace a brazen, warlike blare, dominating the loudest swell of the music,--for the dance of Satyrs and Bacchantes was still continuing,--the blast of the Vandal horns. And from the doors, as well as from the highest seats, which afforded a view of the grove, a cry of terror from thousands of voices filled the spacious building: "The _King_! King Gelimer!" The spectators, seized with fear, poured out of all the exits. Thrasaric drew himself up to his full height, lifted the trembling Eugenia on his strong arm, and forced his way through the throng. The voice of the director of the festival was no longer heard. Thrasabad lay prostrate at the feet of the silent marble goddess, clasping in his arms the beautiful Glauke--lifeless. Soon he was alone with her in the vast deserted building. Outside--far away--rose the uproar of voices in dispute, but the silence of death reigned in the Amphitheatre; even the tiger made no sound, as if bewildered by the sudden stillness and emptiness. It was past midnight. A light breeze rose, stirring the silk roof of the tent, and sweeping together the roses which lay scattered over the arena. CHAPTER XVII Thrasaric's guests were standing in the large open square of the grove, directly in front of the Amphitheatre they had just left, most of them with the expression and bearing of children caught by their master in some forbidden act. Thrasaric had shaken off the last vestige of intoxication. "The King?" he murmured in a low tone. "The hero? I am ashamed of myself." He pulled at the rose-wreath on his shaggy locks. Gundomar, sword in hand, approached him with a defiant air. "Fear was ever a stranger to you, son of Thrasamer. Now we must defy the tyrant. Face him as we do." But Thrasaric made no answer; he only shook his huge head, and repeated to Eugenia, whom he had placed carefully on the ground by his side: "I am ashamed in the King's presence. And my brother! My poor brother!" "Poor Glauke!" sighed Eugenia. "But perhaps she is to be envied."