“And the victim?”
Slowly she replies:—“The terrible altar never lacks a victim!”
Suddenly rose loud cries of anger; and through the thick throng of worshippers there ran several armed Gauls, bearing in their midst a man dressed in Roman garments.
“A Roman found in the sacred temple.”
Who was this man—this Roman? She, Norma, trembled as she saw him; and she whispered the word “Pollione!”
There was a suppressed cry of joy amongst the Druids—their gods had sent this sacrifice—this Roman, their enemy, who had dared to enter the sacred forest.
“Take thou the sacred sword and slay him.”
He who spoke was Oroveso; she who heard—she who stretched forth her hand for the weapon—was Norma.
And as she took the sword, the Druids saw the Roman start and turn pale, and they said amongst themselves that he was afraid.
Slowly she came down from the altar, the shining weapon in her hand. Slowly she came near him—not a pitying look upon her face. Slowly she lifted the sword against him, as he raised his arm to receive the blow. And then—then she was weak; and she, the high priestess, let fall the point of the sacred weapon from before the enemy and the victim. In a mighty voice they called forth—“Slay him!”