ched out his thin, but nervous, right hand.

"Old friend," said he, "we must now take leave of each other."

The old man sank upon his knees and pressed the King's hand to his
broad breast.

"Come, my friend, rise! Must I comfort _thee_?"

But Hildebrand remained upon his knees, and only lifted his head so
that he could look the King in the face.

"See," said the King, "I know that thou, son of Hilding, hast received
from thy ancestors and thy father a deeper knowledge of the ailings of
mankind and their healing than all these Grecian physicians and Lydian
quack-salvers. And, more than that, thou art sincere. Therefore, I beg
thee honestly to confirm me in what I feel to be true. Tell me, must I
not die to-day--even before the night?" And he looked at him in a
manner that would brook no deception.

But Hildebrand did not wish to deceive him; he had regained his natural
composure.

"Yes, King of the Goths, heir of the Amelungs, thou must die; the hand
of Death has passed across thy brow. Never again wilt thou see the
sun's setting."

"It is well," said Theodoric, without blenching. "Seest thou, the Greek
whom I dismissed has lied to me all the day long. And yet time is
precious to me."

"Wilt thou again send for the priests?" asked Hildebrand reluctantly.

"No; they can do me no good. I need them no more."

"Sleep has strengthened thee, and lifted the veil from thy soul. Hail!
Theodoric, son of Walamer! thou wilt die like a hero!"

"I know," said the King, smiling, "that it was repugnant to thy
feelings to see the priests near my couch. Thou art in the right. They
cannot help me."

"And now--who or what has helped thee now?"

"God and myself. Hear! And what I am about to say are my parting words.
In gratitude for thy fifty years' faithful service, I confide to thine
ear alone--not to my daughter, and not to Cassiodorus--that which has
so long troubled me. Tell me, what is reported among the people? What
is believed was the cause of the melancholy which suddenly overcame me,
and originated this disease?"

"The Italians say that it was remorse for the death of Boethius and
Symmachus."

"Didst thou believe this?"

"No; I could not believe that the death of traitors could so affect
thee."

"Thou art in the right. Perhaps, according to law, they were not
deserving of death; and I loved Boethius much. But they were traitors a
thousand times! Traitors in their thoughts, traitors to my trust, to my
heart