eyes fixed upon the hole in the wall, through which alone
light and air could penetrate to the King's prison--a silent and
thoughtful woman.

It was Rauthgundis. Her eyes never left the little chink in the wall,
"For," she said to herself, "thither turn all my thoughts--there, where
_his_ eyes too are ever fixed."

Even when she spoke to her companion, Wachis, or to the gaoler, she
never turned her eyes away. It seemed as if she thought that her mere
look could guard the prisoner from every danger.

On the day of which we speak she had sat thus for a long time.

It was evening. Dark and threatening the massive tower rose into the
sky, casting a broad shadow over the court and the left wing of the
palace.

"Thanks, O Heavenly Father," murmured Rauthgundis; "even the strokes of
fate have led to good. If, as I once intended, I had gone to my father
upon the High Arn, I should never have heard of all the misery here. Or
far too late. But I could not bear to forsake the last resting-place of
my child near our home. The last, indeed, I was obliged to leave, for
how could I know that _she_, his Queen, would not come there? I dwelt
in the woods near Faesulae, and when news came of failure, and one
misfortune followed another; when the Persians burnt our house, and I
saw the flames from my hiding-place; it was too late to escape to my
father. All the roads were blocked, and the Italians delivered all whom
they found with yellow hair into the hands of the Massagetae. No way was
open but the road here--to the city where I had ever refused to go as
_his_ wife. I came like a fugitive beggar. Wachis, the slave, now the
freedman, and Wallada, our horse, alone remained faithful to me.
But--forced by God's hand to come, whether I would or not--I found that
it was only that I might save _him_--deliver him from the shameful
treachery of his wife, and out of the hands of his enemies! I thank
Thee, O God, for this Thy mercy!"

Her attention was attracted by the rattling of the iron gate opposite.

A man with a light came through it across the court, and now entered
the ante-room. It was the old gaoler.

"Well? Speak! cried Rauthgundis, leaving her seat and hurrying to him.

"Patience--patience! Let me first set down the lamp. There! Well, he
has drunk and it has done him good."

Rauthgundis laid her hand upon her heart.

"'What is he doing?" she asked.

"He always sits in the same position, perfectly silent. He sits on a
ston