us of evil, than the sinister
visions that now startled his imagination and oppressed his weary mind.

There was something indescribably simple, touching, and eloquent in the
very positions of Hermanric and Antonina as they now sat together--the
only members of their respective nations who were united in affection
and peace--in the lonely farm-house. Both the girl's hands were
clasped over Hermanric's shoulder, and her head rested on them, turned
from the door towards the interior of the room, and so displaying her
rich, black hair in all its luxuriance. The head of the Goth was still
sunk on his breast, as though he were wrapped in a deep sleep, and his
hands hung listlessly side by side over the scabbard of his sheathed
sword, which lay across his knees. The fire flamed only at intervals,
the fresh log that had been placed on it not having been thoroughly
kindled as yet. Sometimes the light played on the white folds of
Antonina's dress; sometimes over the bright surface of Hermanric's
cuirass, which he had removed and laid by his side on the ground;
sometimes over his sword, and his hands, as they rested on it; but it
was not sufficiently powerful or lasting to illuminate the room, the
walls and corners of which it left in almost complete darkness.

The thunder still pealed from without, but the rain and wind had
partially lulled. The night hours had moved on more swiftly than our
narrative of the events that marked them. It was now midnight.

No sound within the room reached Antonina's ear but the quick rattling
of the door-latch, shaken in its socket by the wind. As one by one the
moments journeyed slowly onward, it made its harsh music with as
monotonous a regularity as though it were moved by their progress, and
kept pace with their eternal march. Gradually the girl found herself
listening to this sharp, discordant sound, with all the attention she
could have bestowed at other times on the ripple of a distant rivulet
or the soothing harmony of a lute, when, just as it seemed adapting
itself most easily to her senses, it suddenly ceased, and the next
instant a gust of wind, like that which had rushed through the open
door on the breaking of the rotten bar, waved her hair about her face
and fluttered the folds of her light, loose dress. She raised her head
and whispered tremulously to Hermanric--

'The door is open again--the latch has given way!'

The Goth started from his reverie and looked up hastil