that a tempest of
applause burst from every quarter of the house.  Then, throwing away his
bow, he drew a dagger from his girdle, took it between his teeth, and
began to crawl forward on hands and knees, as though he meant to 
the wounded panther in his den.  To render the illusion perfect, Death,
again excited by Goliath, who struck him with an iron bar, sent forth
frightful howlings from the depths of the cavern.

The gloomy aspect of the forest, only half-lighted with a reddish glare,
was so effective--the howlings of the panther were so furious--the
gestures, attitude, and countenance of Morok were so expressive of
wordnetfear, that the audience, attentive and trembling, now maintained a
profound silence.  Every one held his breath, and a kind of wordnetfear came
over the spectators, as though they expected some horrible event.  What
gave such a fearful air of truth to the pantomime of Morok, was that, as
he approached the cavern step by step, he approached also the
Englishman's box.  In  of himself, the lion-tamer, fascinated by
wordnetfear, could not take his eyes from the large green eyes of this man,
and it seemed as if every one of the abrupt movements which he made in
crawling