the child has
died, shall not the treasures that were promised me be mine? I have
done what I could, but my cunning begins to desert me, for I am
old--old--old! I have seen my generation pass away! Aha! I am old,
Hermanric, I am old!'

When the young warrior looked on the child, he saw that the hag had
spoken truth, and that the victim had died from no fault of hers. Pale
and serene, the countenance of the boy showed how tranquil had been his
death. The dressings had been skilfully composed and carefully applied
to his wounds, but suffering and privation had annihilated the
feebleness of human resistance in their march toward the last dread
goal, and the treachery of Imperial Rome had once more triumphed as was
its wont, and triumphed over a child!

As Hermanric descended with the corpse Goisvintha was the first object
that met his eyes when he alighted on the ground. The mother received
from him the lifeless burden without an exclamation or a tear. That
emanation from her former and kinder self which had been produced by
the closing recital of her sufferings was henceforth, at the signal of
her last child's death, extinguished in her for ever!

'His wounds had crippled him,' said the young man gloomily. 'He could
never have fought with the warriors! Our ancestors slew themselves
when they were no longer vigorous for the fight. It is better that he
has died!'

'Vengeance!' gasped Goisvintha, pressing up closely to his side. 'We
will have vengeance for the massacre of Aquileia! When blood is
streaming in the palaces of Rome, remember my murdered children, and
hasten not to sheathe thy sword!'

At this instant, as if to rouse still further the fierce determination
that appeared already in the face of the young Goth, the voice of
Alaric was heard commanding the army to advance. Hermanric started, and
drew the panting woman after him to the resting-place of the king.
There, armed at all points, and rising, by his superior stature, high
above the throng around him, stood the dreaded captain of the Gothic
hosts. His helmet was raised so as to display his clear blue eyes
gleaming over the multitude around him; he pointed with his sword in
the direction of Italy; and as rank by rank the men started to their
arms, and prepared exultingly for the march, his lips parted with a
smile of triumph, and ere he moved to accompany them he spoke thus:--

'Warriors of the Goths, our halt is a short one among the mounta