ere sat a long row of Gothic maidens with their noisy spindles;
opposite to them a few Roman women slaves, occupied in finer work.

In the middle of the hall walked Rauthgundis, and let her own
swiftly-turning spindle dance upon the smooth mosaic pavement, at the
same time turning frequently to look at the maids.

Her dark-blue dress of home manufacture was gathered up above one knee,
and puffed out over a belt of steel rings, which, her only ornament,
bore a bunch of keys.

Her auburn hair was combed, back from the brow and temples, and twined
into a simple knot at the back of the head.

There was much simple dignity in her aspect as she paced the room with
grave and examining looks. She went up to one of the youngest of the
maids, who sat lowest in the row, and bent over her.

"Well done, Liuta," she said; "thy thread is smooth, and thou hast not
so often looked up at the door to-day. Certainly," she added with a
smile, "there is not much merit in that, as Wachis cannot enter."

The young girl blushed.

Rauthgundis laid her hand kindly upon her smooth hair.

"I know," she said, "that thou art angry with me in secret, because I
made thee, the betrothed, work all this year an hour longer, morning
and evening, than the other maids. It was cruel, was it not? Well, see!
it was for thine own good. All that thou hast spun this year of my best
flax is thine; I give it thee for thy new household. Then thou wilt not
need to spin next year, the first of thy married life."

The girl took her hand, and looked up gratefully, with tearful eyes.

"And _you_ they call hard and severe!" was all that she could say.

"Mild with the good, severe with the bad, Liuta. All that is under my
care is the property of my husband, and the inheritance of my boy.
Therefore I must be strict."

Just then the old man and Athalwin appeared at the door. The boy wanted
to call out, but the old man held his hand over his mouth, and, for a
while, observed unremarked the actions of Rauthgundis as she examined
the maids' work, praised, scolded, and arranged new tasks.

"Yes," at last said the old man to himself, "she looks very stately,
and seems to be mistress in the house--yet, who knows all!"

And now it was no more possible to hold Athalwin back.

"Mother!" he cried, "a strange man! who has bewitched Thursa, and
climbed over the fence, and wants to come to thee! I cannot understand
it!"

The stately woman turned to the door with dignit