d
foe! Look," he added, more calmly, "the sun is setting. The mirror-like
flood invites us. Come, Camilla, come with me in the boat."

Camilla hesitated. She looked around.

"The slave?" asked Athalaric. "Ah, let her alone. There she reposes
under the palm by the spring. She sleeps. Come, come quickly, ere the
sun sets. Look at the golden ripple on the water--it beckons us!"

"To the Isles of the Blessed?" asked the lovely girl, with a shy look
and a slight blush.

"Yes, come to the Blessed Isles!" he answered, delighted, lifted her
quickly into the boat, loosed the silver chain from the ram's head upon
the quay, sprang in, took the ornamental oar, and pushed off.

Then he laid the oar into the notch at his left hand, and, standing in
the stern of the boat, steered and rowed at the same time--a graceful
and picturesque movement, and a right Germanic ferryman's custom.

Camilla sat upon a _diphros_, or Grecian folding-stool, in the bow of
the boat, and looked into Athalaric's noble face. His dark hair was
ruffled by the breeze, and it was pleasant to watch the lithe and
graceful motions of his agile form.

Both were silent. Like an arrow the light bark shot through the smooth
water. Flecked and rosy cloudlets passed slowly across the sky, the
faint breeze was laden with clouds of perfume from the blossoming
almond-trees upon the shore, and all around was peace and harmony.

At last the King broke the silence, while giving the boat a strong
impulse, so that it obediently shot forwards.

"Do you know of what I am thinking? How splendid it would be to steer a
nation--thousands of well-loved lives--securely forward through waves
and wind, to happiness and glory! But what were you thinking about,
Camilla? You looked so kind, you must have had pleasant thoughts."

She blushed and looked aside into the water.

"Oh, speak! Be frank in this happy hour."

"I was thinking," she said, her pretty head still averted, "how
delightful it must be to be steered through the heaving flood of life
by a faithful and beloved hand, to whose guidance one could implicitly
trust."

"Oh, Camilla, even a barbarian may be trusted--"

"You are no barbarian! Whoever feels so tenderly, thinks so nobly, so
generously controls himself, and rewards great ingratitude with
kindness, is no barbarian! He is as noble a man as ever Scipio was."

The King ceased to row in his delight; the boat remained motionless.

"Camilla, am I dreaming? Did