“Oh! a moment! I feel sick.”
Then Phaon said: “Sire—at once!”
Then Nero, with all power going out of his fingers, pointed the blade to his throat.
“I cannot,” he gasped, “my hand is numb.”
Immediately, Epaphroditus with his hand full of chain, brought the weighted fist against the haft, and drove the sword into the coward’s throat.
He sank back on the bier.
Then Lamia stooped, gathered up the moth-eaten cloak, and threw it over the face of the dying man.