"Shall thy master run away from his kingdom, like a bad slave from the mill?" "Farewell, Witichis. Here, take the locket with the blue ribbon; the ringlet of our boy is in it, and one," she whispered, kissing him on the forehead, and hanging the locket round his neck, "one of Rauthgundis'. Farewell, thou, my heart's life!" He raised himself to look into her eyes. She suddenly struck her horse--"Forward, Wallada!"--and galloped away. Wachis followed. Witichis stood motionless, and looked after her. She stopped before the road turned into the wood--once more she waved her hand, and the next minute had disappeared. Witichis listened to the tramp of the horses as if in a dream. When the sound ceased he turned. But he could not leave the place. He stepped out of the road. At the other side of the ditch lay a large mossy block of stone. There the King of the Goths seated himself, rested his arms upon his knees, and buried his face in his hands. He pressed them hard against his eyes, to shut out the whole world from his grief. Tears trickled through his fingers. He did not notice them. Horsemen galloped past. He scarcely heard them. So he sat motionless for hours; so motionless, that the birds of the wood hopped close to him. The sun stood in the south. At last--he heard some one call his name. He looked up. Earl Teja stood before him. "I knew well," said Teja, "that thou hadst not fled like a coward. Come back with me, and save thy kingdom. When, this morning, thou wert not found in thy tent, the report spread through the camp that, despairing of kingdom and happiness, thou hadst fled. It soon reached the city of Ravenna and Guntharis. The Ravennese threaten a sally, and that they will go over to Belisarius. Arahad tempts the army to give him the crown. Two, three opposing Kings arise. Everything will fall to pieces if thou comest not to save us!" "I come!" cried Witichis. "Let them take care! The best heart in the world has been broken for the sake of this crown; it is sacred, and they shall not desecrate it. Come, Teja, back to the camp!" BOOK IV.-_Continued._ WITICHIS. "But the Goths chose Witichis for their king, a man, not indeed of noble birth, but of great fame as a warrior."--_Procopius: Wars of the Goths_, i. 11. PART II. CHAPTER I. When King Witichis readied the camp, he found it almost in a state of anarchy. The pressing need of the moment forcibly roused him from his grief, and gave him sufficient occupation.