her; if a storm blows up, her life is not
worth--that!'

'It is a pity that we have not brought her hither already.'

'It is; but we could not. We must not break with Orestes till the palace
is in our hands.'

'And will it ever be in our hands, friend?'

'Certain. We were round at every picquet last night, and the very notion
of an Amal's heading them made them so eager, that we had to bribe them
to be quiet rather than to rise.'

'Odin! I wish I were among them now!'

'Wait till the city rises. If the day pass over without a riot, I know
nothing. The treasure is all on board, is it not?'

'Yes, and the galleys ready. I have been working like a horse at them
all the morning, as you would let me do nothing else. And Goderic will
not be back from the palace, you say, till nightfall!'

'If we are attacked first, we are to throw up a fire signal to him, and
he is to come off hither with what Goths he can muster. If the palace is
attacked first, he is to give us the signal, and we are to pack up and
row round thither. And in the meanwhile he is to make that hound of a
Greek prefect as drunk as he can.'

'The Greek will see him under the table. He has drugs, I know, as all
these Roman rascals have, to sober him when he likes; and then he
sets to work and drinks again. Send off old Smid, and let him beat the
armourer if he can.'

'A very good thought!' said Wulf, and came out instantly for the purpose
of putting it in practice.

Pelagia had just time to retreat into an adjoining doorway: but she had
heard enough; and as Wulf passed, she sprang to him and caught him by
the arm.

'Oh, come in hither! Speak to me one moment; for mercy's sake speak
to me!' and she drew him, half against his will, into the chamber, and
throwing herself at his feet, broke out into a childlike wail.

Wulf stood silent, utterly discomfited by this unexpected submission,
where he had expected petulant and artful resistance. He almost felt
guilty and ashamed, as he looked down into that beautiful imploring
face, convulsed with simple sorrow, as of a child for a broken toy.....
At last she spoke.

'Oh, what have I done-what have I done? Why must you take him from me?
What have I done but love him, honour him, worship him? I know you love
him; and I love you for it.--I do indeed! But you--what is your love
to mine? Oh, I would die for him--be torn in pieces for him--now, this
moment!....

Wulf was silent.

'What have I done but love