But the arch traitor was bleeding at every pore; gashed in every limb of his body; he had received three mortal wounds already; he was fast failing when Arvina grappled him, and at the name of his injured child, his conscience conquered. His sword at length came away, extricated when too late from the tough bull-hide; but, ere he could nerve his arm to strike again, Arvina's point had torn his thigh, had gored his breast, had pierced his naked throat, with three wounds, the least of them mortal.
But even in that agony he struck home! He could not even curse, but he struck home, and a fierce joyous smile illuminated his wan face, as he saw his slayer stumble forward, and fall beside him on the bloody greensward.
In a moment, however, Paullus rallied, recovered his feet, drew from his bosom the long black ringlet of poor Lucia, and bathed it in the life blood of her slayer.
"Lucia! Ho! Lucia! Rejoice! my vow, my vow is kept! Thou art avenged, avenged! Ah! Lucia!—Julia!"—
And he fell sick and swooning upon the yet living bleeding body of his mortal foeman.
CHAPTER XXII.
A NIGHT OF HORROR.
Rider and horse, friend, foe, in one red burial blent.