The King's sparse hair, rubbed off on the temples by years of friction caused by his heavy helmet, was still of a bright brown colour, and without a trace of grey. His heavy brow, sparkling eyes, large nose, and the deep lines in his cheeks, spoke of great tasks and great strength to accomplish them. The expression of his face was commanding and even sublime; but the benevolent softness of his mouth, in spite of the grim and slightly-grey beard, gave evidence of the mildness and peaceful wisdom by means of which he had raised his kingdom to such a flourishing condition that it had already become a proverb and celebrated in story. His golden-brown and piercing eyes rested for some time upon his gigantic sick-nurse, with an expression of love and favour. At last he stretched out his thin, but nervous, right hand. "Old friend," said he, "we must now take leave of each other." The old man sank upon his knees and pressed the King's hand to his broad breast. "Come, my friend, rise! Must I comfort _thee_?" But Hildebrand remained upon his knees, and only lifted his head so that he could look the King in the face. "See," said the King, "I know that thou, son of Hilding, hast received from thy ancestors and thy father a deeper knowledge of the ailings of mankind and their healing than all these Grecian physicians and Lydian quack-salvers. And, more than that, thou art sincere. Therefore, I beg thee honestly to confirm me in what I feel to be true. Tell me, must I not die to-day--even before the night?" And he looked at him in a manner that would brook no deception. But Hildebrand did not wish to deceive him; he had regained his natural composure. "Yes, King of the Goths, heir of the Amelungs, thou must die; the hand of Death has passed across thy brow. Never again wilt thou see the sun's setting." "It is well," said Theodoric, without blenching. "Seest thou, the Greek whom I dismissed has lied to me all the day long. And yet time is precious to me." "Wilt thou again send for the priests?" asked Hildebrand reluctantly. "No; they can do me no good. I need them no more." "Sleep has strengthened thee, and lifted the veil from thy soul. Hail! Theodoric, son of Walamer! thou wilt die like a hero!" "I know," said the King, smiling, "that it was repugnant to thy feelings to see the priests near my couch. Thou art in the right. They cannot help me." "And now--who or what has helped thee now?" "God and myself. Hear! And what I am about to say are my parting words. In gratitude for thy fifty years' faithful service, I confide to thine ear alone--not to my daughter, and not to Cassiodorus--that which has so long troubled me. Tell me, what is reported among the people? What is believed was the cause of the melancholy which suddenly overcame me, and originated this disease?" "The Italians say that it was remorse for the death of Boëthius and Symmachus." "Didst thou believe this?"