And he knew the ungovernable pride and irritable temper of the Corsican; he feared, in case of refusal, that the old love and friendship would be speedily changed to burning hate. Dark stories were told of the wild rage of this man, and Valerius would gladly have spared both him and himself the pain of a rejection. But the other continued: "I think we are both men who do business in a business-like manner. And, according to old custom, I speak at once to the father, and not first to the daughter. Give me your child to wife, Valerius! In part you know my fortune--only in part--for it is far larger than you think. I will match her dowry, be it never so splendid, with the double----" "Furius!" interrupted the father. "I think I am a man who can make his wife happy. At least, I can protect her better than any one else in these dangerous times. I will take her in my ships, should Corsica be threatened, to Asia or to Africa. On every coast there awaits her, not a house, but a palace. No queen could envy her. I will cherish, her more dearly--more dearly than my life!" He paused in extreme agitation, as if expecting a prompt reply. Valerius was silent, he sought for an excuse--it was but a moment, but the bare appearance of hesitation on the father's part revolted the Corsican. The blood rushed to his handsome face, which, just before almost soft and mild, suddenly assumed an aspect of ferocity; a vivid red flush spread over his brown cheeks. "Furius Ahalla," he said hastily, "is not accustomed to offer a thing twice. Usually my wares, at the first offer, are snatched at with both hands. I now offer myself--by God! I am not worse than my purple---- "My friend," began the old man, "we no longer live in ancient times. The new belief has almost deprived a father of the right to dispose of his daughter. My _will_ would give her to you and to no other, but her heart----" "She loves another!" cried the Corsican, "whom?" And his hand caught at his dagger, as if he would gladly have killed his rival on the instant. There was something of the tiger in this movement, and in the glare of his rolling eyes. Valerius felt how deadly would be his hatred, and would not mention the name. "Who can it be?" asked Furius, in an under tone. "A Roman? Montanus? No! Oh, only--only not _he_--say no, old man! not he----" and he caught Valerius by the sleeve. "Who? Whom do you mean?" "He, who landed with me--the Goth! But yes it must be he--every one loves him--Totila!" "It is he," said Valerius, and kindly tried to take his friend's hand. But he released it again in terror; a fearful convulsion shook the iron frame of the strong Corsican. He stretched forth his hand stiffly, as if he would strangle the pain which tortured him. Then he tossed back his head, and, laughing wildly, struck his forehead repeatedly. Valerius observed this mad fit with horror. At last the arms of the enraged man slowly dropped, and revealed an ashy-pale face.