“It must not be, lady. To let you sleep is to consign you to death. You must be constrained to walk.”
“Let me sleep!” she fretfully said.
“If you sleep you die.”
“I want to die—only to sleep. I am dead weary.”
“Make her move along,” said the sorcerer in a low tone, and the slaves who held her up drew her forward. She scarce moved her feet.
“Oh, you are cruel. I want to sleep. An hour! half an hour. For one moment longer!” she pleaded.
Still the bearers drew her forward, they did not lift her so that she need not move her feet. She was constrained to step forward.
“I pray you! I will give you gold. You shall have all my jewels. Lay me down. Let go your hold, and I will lie where I am, and sleep.”
“Draw her further.—Hark! here come horses. Aside! behind that tomb!”
The party stole from off the road and secreted itself behind one of the mausoleums that line the sides of the Appian Way.