She walked across to a building now turned into a stable, the former curia of Medenus, where, a short time before, many horses had stamped. Only Styx, the stallion, now stood in it. Hilda grasped his mane, and the wise, faithful animal followed like a lamb. The Princess went with the horse to the hut. It hung back a moment before following her into the narrow inclosure, which was dimly lighted by a pine torch in an iron ring by the door. "Come in," Hilda said coaxingly, drawing the horse gently after her. "It will be better for you too. You will perish miserably. Your beauty and your strength have gone. And after serving love in that brave ride through the battle, the enemy shall not seize you and torment you with base labor. What says the ancient song: "Heaped high for the hero Log on log laid they: Slain, his swift steed Shared the warrior's death. And, gladly, his wife, Nay, alas! his widow. Burden of life's weary Days sad and desolate Would she, the faithful, Bear on no farther." She led the stallion to the side of the lofty pile of wood, where she had laid the beautiful corpse, drew Gibamund's sword from its sheath, and, searching with her hand for the throbbing of the heart, thrust the blade into it with one powerful blow. Styx fell lifeless. Hilda threw down the blood-stained weapon. "Oh, my love!" she cried. "Oh, my husband, my life! Why did I never tell you how I loved you? Alas! because I did not know myself--until now! Hear it, oh, hear it, Gibamund, I loved you very dearly. I thank you. Friend Teja! Oh, my all, I follow you." And now she drew from her girdle the keen black dagger. Severing with one cut the long floating banner from its staff, she spread it over the corpse like a pall. It was so wide that it covered the whole space beside the body. Then, with the blazing torch, she lighted the lowest wood, bent over the dead Prince, again kissed the pale lips fervently, and seizing the dark weapon, which flashed brightly in the light of the flames, buried it in her brave, proud heart. She fell forward on her face over her beloved husband, and the fire, crackling and burning, seized first the scarlet banner which enfolded the young pair. The morning breeze blew strongly through the half-open door and the chinks between the logs--and the bright flames soon blazed high above the roof. CHAPTER XXI PROCOPIUS TO CETHEGUS: