"Is it any wonder, then, that we men do not seek to wed these pretentious dolls? Because I am rich, fathers and, still more, eager, anxious mothers, and even--well, I will not say it! In short, I might have married many dozen Vandal girls, had I desired to do so. But I said, no. I loved no one of them. I cared only for this child, this little Greek. Her I love ardently, from the very depths of my soul, and faithfully too. For my whole life!" Hilda's glance darted over him from her high seat to the swaying curtains. "And now--now, I love even more than ever the pearl I have lost. She honors the love she once felt for me by sparing the unworthy man. She has not told you the wrong I did her, the crime I committed. But--" he straightened himself to his full height, his manly, handsome countenance illumined by the loftiest feeling--"I have imposed it upon myself as a penance, if she said nothing, to confess it to you with my own lips. Write and tell her so; perhaps then she will think of me more kindly. It is the heaviest punishment to tell you; for, Princess Hilda, I revere you as I would a goddess, aye, the protecting goddess of our people. The thought that you will now despise me is like death. But you shall know! I have--so I am told; I do not know, but it is doubtless true--I have Eugenia--I did it while intoxicated, after drinking an ocean of wine--but I did it! And I am not worthy ever to see her again. I have--" "Not you, my beloved, it was the wine," cried an exultant voice, and a slender figure clung passionately yet shyly to his broad breast, and, while ardently embracing him with her right arm, she laid the little fingers of her left hand upon his mouth to stay his words. "Eugenia!" exclaimed the giant, flushing crimson. "You heard me? You can forgive? You still love me?" "Unto death! Unto the grave! No, beyond death. I would seek you in the grave if I lost you! With you, in life and in death! For I love you!" "And that is eternal," said Hilda, passing her hand lightly over the young wife's hair. Then she floated out of the room, leaving the happy lovers alone with their joy. _BOOK TWO_ IN THE WAR CHAPTER I PROCOPIUS OF CÆSAREA TO CORNELIUS CETHEGUS CÆSARIUS: There is no longer either sense or reason in concealing my name; the bird would still be recognized by its song. And now I am almost certain that these sheets will not be seized in Constantinople; for we shall soon be swimming on the blue waves. So it is war with the Vandals! The Empress has accomplished her design. She treated her husband, after he hesitated, very coldly, even insolently. That is always effectual. What motive urged and still impels her to this war, Hell knows certainly, Heaven vaguely, and I not at all.