They were fixed on me.

I was unable to give out a breath.
Its chest heaved; both bronze hands struck against the bosom.
'Richmond! my son! Richie! Harry Richmond! Richmond Roy!' That was what the statue gave forth.
My head was like a ringing pan.

I knew it was my father, but my father with death and strangeness, earth, metal, about him; and his voice was like a human cry contending with earth and metal-mine was stifled.

I saw him descend.

I dismounted.