you have done--these and your bones, no more. Repent you, therefore,
repent while there is time; for I, whom you have doomed, I am bidden to
declare that judgment is at hand. Yes, even now, although you see him
not, the Angel of the Lord hangs over you and writes your names within
his book. Now while there is time I would pray for you and for your
king. Farewell."

As he spoke those words "the Angel of the Lord hangs over you," so great
was the preacher's power, and in that weary darkness so sharply had he
touched the imagination of his strange audience, that with a sound like
to the stir of rustling trees, thousands of faces were turned upwards,
as though in search of that dread messenger.

"Look, look!" screamed a hundred voices, while dim arms pointed to some
noiseless thing that floated high above them against the background
of the sky, which grew grey with the coming dawn. It appeared and
disappeared, appeared again, then seemed to pass downward in the
direction of Agrippa's throne, and vanished.

"It is that magician's angel," cried one, and the multitudes groaned.

"Fool," said another, "it was but a bird."

"Then for Agrippa's sake," shrilled a new voice, "the gods send that it
was not an owl."

Thereat some laughed, but the most were silent. They knew the story of
King Agrippa and the owl, and how it had been foretold that this spirit
in the form of a bird would appear to him again in the hour of his
death, as it had appeared to him in the hour of his triumph.[*]