So the maiden had almost ceased to think of Athalaric, and if he were named, or if, as often happened, his picture entered into her dreams, her hatred of the barbarians was concentrated in a feeling of the greatest abhorrence towards him, perhaps just because, in the depths of her heart, there lurked an involuntary suspicion of the secret inclination which she nourished for the handsome and noble youth. And now--now he had dared to lay a snare for her unsuspicious heart! No sooner had she seen him step from the bushes--no sooner did she recognise him, than she at once understood that it was he who had not only enclosed the spring, but caused the alteration of the whole estate. He, the hated enemy; he, the offspring of the cursed race which had shed the blood of her father: the King of the Goths! The joy with which, during the last few days, she had examined house and garden, was now changed into bitterness. The deadly enemy of her people, of her race, had dared to enrich her; to give her pleasure; to make her happy; for him she had breathed thankful prayers to Heaven! He had been bold enough to follow her steps, to listen to her words, to fulfil her lightest wish; and at the bottom of her soul lay the dreadful certainty that he loved her! The barbarian was insolent enough to show it. The tyrant of Italy dared to hope that the daughter of Boëthius---- Oh, it was too much! and, sobbing violently, she buried her head in the cushions of her couch, to which she had retired, until deep sleep of exhaustion overcame her. Not long after, Cethegus, who had been hastily sent for, came to visit the troubled woman. Rusticiana would fain have followed her own and Camilla's first impulse, to fly from the villa and the hated vicinity of the King, and hide her child on the other side of the Alps. But Camilla's condition had, till then, prevented their departure, and as soon as the Prefect entered the house, the flame of their excitement seemed to sink before his cold glances. He took Rusticiana alone with him into the garden. Leaning his back against a laurel-tree, and supporting his chin on his hand, he listened quietly and attentively to her passionate recital. "And now, speak," she concluded; "what shall I do? How shall I save my poor child? Whither shall I take her?" "Whither shall you take Camilla?" he repeated. "To the court, to Ravenna." Rusticiana started. "Why this ill-timed joke?"