d my family from the place
which belonged to it among the people of the Goths."

"At this moment," answered Witichis, "thou hast redeemed that place.
The Goths shall never forget that the generosity of the Woelfungs has
saved them from a civil war."

"And, as a sign of this, thou wilt give us the right to bear the
standard of the Goths before the troops in every battle?"

"Be it so," said the King, giving him his right hand; "and none can be
more worthy."

"Thanks, O King! Let us now go to Mataswintha."

"Mataswintha!" cried Arahad, who had looked on at this reconciliation,
which buried all his hopes, in dismay. "Ha! you remind me at the right
time. You can take the crown from me--let it go--but not my love, and
not the duty of protecting my beloved. She has refused me, but I shall
love her until death! I have protected her from my brother, who would
have forced her to wed me. No less faithfully will I protect her now if
you two attempt to force her to give her hand to my hated enemy. That
hand, which is dearer to me than all the crowns of the world, shall be
free!"

And he quickly mounted his horse, and galloped off to the camp.

Witichis looked after him anxiously.

"Let him go," said Duke Guntharis; "we two, united, have nothing to
fear. Let us now reconcile the troops, since the leaders are friends."

While Guntharis first led the King through his lines of troops, and
called upon them at once to do him homage, which they did with joy, and
afterwards Witichis took the Woelfung and his leaders with him into his
camp, where the victory so peacefully gained was looked upon as
miraculous, Arahad collected together a small troop of about a hundred
horsemen, who were faithfully attached to him, and galloped back with
them to his camp.

He soon reached the tent of Mataswintha, who indignantly rose at his
entrance.

"Be not angry. Princess. This time thou hast no right to be so. Arahad
comes to fulfil his last duty. Fly! thou must follow me!" And, in the
impetuosity of his excitement, he grasped her small white hand.

Mataswintha receded a step, and laid her hand upon the broad golden
girdle which confined her white under-garment.

"Fly?" she asked. "Fly whither?"

"Over the sea! over the Alps! Anywhere for liberty; for thy liberty is
endangered."

"Only by thee!"

"By me no longer; and I can protect thee no more. So long as only my
happiness was at stake, I could be cruel to myself and honour thy will.