The hilt struck heavily against the man's breast; he staggered and fell helpless to the ground.

The laugh was redoubled among the Goths; but now their leader did not join in it.

His eye glowed in triumphant scorn as he pointed to the prostrate Roman, exclaiming-- 'So does the South fall beneath the sword of the North! So shall the empire bow before the rule of the Goth! Say, as ye look on these Romans before us, are we not avenged of our wrongs?
They die not fighting on our swords; they live to entreat our pity, as children that are in terror of the whip!' He paused.

His massive and noble countenance gradually assumed a thoughtful expression.

The ambassadors moved forward a few steps--perhaps to make a final entreaty, perhaps to depart in despair; but he signed with his hand in command to them to be silent and remain where they stood.