Edward Bulwer-Lytton: The Last Days of Pompeii

BOOK THE FIFTH 5. Chapter V (continued)

'Medon!' said Olinthus, pityingly, 'arise, and fly! God is forth upon the wings of the elements! The New Gomorrah is doomed!--Fly, ere the fires consume thee!'

'He was ever so full of life!--he cannot be dead! Come hither!--place your hand on his heart!--sure it beats yet?'

'Brother, the soul has fled! We will remember it in our prayers! Thou canst not reanimate the dumb clay! Come, come--hark! while I speak, yon crashing walls!--hark! yon agonizing cries! Not a moment is to be lost!--Come!'

'I hear nothing!' said Medon, shaking his grey hair. 'The poor boy, his love murdered him!'

'Come! come! forgive this friendly force.'

'What! Who could sever the father from the son?' And Medon clasped the body tightly in his embrace, and covered it with passionate kisses. 'Go!' said he, lifting up his face for one moment. 'Go!--we must be alone!'

'Alas!' said the compassionate Nazarene, 'Death hath severed ye already!'

The old man smiled very calmly. 'No, no, no!' muttered, his voice growing lower with each word--'Death has been more kind!'

With that his head drooped on His son's breast--his arms relaxed their grasp. Olinthus caught him by the hand--the pulse had ceased to beat! The last words of the father were the words of truth--Death had been more kind!