Hastening to a more reverent distance from the royal person, they
attempted to drag along with them the marabout, who, exhausted
apparently by previous fatigue, or overpowered by the potent
draught he had just swallowed, resisted being moved from the
spot, both with struggles and groans.
"Leave him still, ye fools," whispered Long Allen to his mates;
"by Saint Christopher, you will make our Dickon go beside
himself, and we shall have his dagger presently fly at our
costards. Leave him alone; in less than a minute he will sleep
like a dormouse."
At the same moment the Monarch darted another impatient glance to
the spot, and all retreated in haste, leaving the dervise on the
ground, unable, as it seemed, to stir a single limb or joint of
his body. In a moment afterward all was as still and quiet as it
had been before the intrusion.
CHAPTER XXI
--and wither'd Murder,
Alarum'd by his sentinel, the wolf,
Whose howl's his watch, thus with his stealthy pace,
With Tarquin's ravishing strides, towards his design
Moves like a ghost.
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