Across wide plains, through deep solitudes, amid dim woods, over gigantic mountains, by the banks of the stream, and the torrent, and the lake, among the occasional ruins left upon the footsteps of ancient civilization and the scattered villages of barbarian hordes, Theodore once more pursued his way. Every kind of scene but that of the cultivated city met his eye, and every kind of weather that the changeful autumn of a northern land can display accompanied him on his path. The splendid October sunshine, beaming clear and kind upon the earth, like the tempered smile of a father looking in mellow ripeness of years upon his rising offspring; the flitting shadows of the heavy clouds, as they swept by over the landscape, resembling the gloomy cares and apprehensions which sometimes cross the brightest moments of enjoyment; the dull misty deluge, pouring down from morning until night, without interval or cessation, shutting out all prospects, and promising no brighter time, like the hopeless existence of but too many of the sons of toil; the brief and angry thunder-storm, rending the stoutest trees, like the fierce passing of war or civil contention, all visited him by turns, as he journeyed onward from the banks of the Tibiscus, till he once more joined the Danube, at a spot where, shrunk to a comparatively insignificant stream, it flowed on between the countries now called Bavaria and Austria.
It was on one of those dim uncertain days, when all distant objects are shut out from the sight, that he crossed the river a little above its junction with the Inn, and entered upon the open country of Bavaria. Nothing was to be seen but the flat plain which stretches onward along the banks of the Inn; and when, after halting for the night amid some rude huts, where the people seemed to speak the language of the Goths, he recommenced his journey on the following morning, the same dull cheerless prospect was all that presented itself, stretched upon the gray back-ground of broad unvaried cloud. His companions had now been reduced to twenty, by the larger party having left him as soon as he was free from danger; and none but his own peculiar attendants accompanied him, except three officers of the household of Attila, sent with authority from that mighty and far-feared monarch to demand a free passage for the young Roman through whatever countries he might have to traverse. It was one of these officers--who took care to show all kindly reverence towards a youth who stood so high in the favour of the king--that now, pointing forward to a little stream which flowed on to join the Inn, informed the young Roman that along its banks was settled the nation which he came to seek.
"And is this," thought Theodore, "this bleak wilderness the destined habitation of my Ildica, nurtured in the lap of ease and civilization? Is this flat, unmeaning plain, bounded by a gray cloud, all that is to greet her eyes after the splendours of the Adriatic shore and the marvellous beauty of Salona?" And with a deep sigh he thought of the regretted past.
Ere he had ridden on a quarter of an hour longer, however, a light wind sprung up; and rising, like a curtain drawn slowly up from some picture of surpassing beauty, the veil of clouds was lifted to the south, displaying as it rose, robed in the magic purple of the mountain air, the wild but splendid scenery of the Bavarian Tyrol.
A few moments more brought the young Roman to a congregation of small wooden houses, not far from the first gentle slopes that served to blend the plain with the highlands. A fair girl, with whose face Theodore felt as if he could claim kindred, paused, with a basket of milk in her hand, to gaze upon the troop of horsemen who were passing by, but without any sign of fear. Theodore asked her some question concerning the road, and she replied lightly and gayly, with the milkmaid's careless glee, speaking the pure Alan tongue in accents that made the young Roman's heart thrill again to hear. He rode gladly on his way, assured by those tones that he was at length once more in the same land with her he loved. That land, he knew, was of no very great extent, and therefore he had not any cause to anticipate a long and painful search; but still the eager thirst with which young affection pants towards its object made him anxious not to lose a single moment in any unnecessary delay; and he determined, as they wound onward towards the little capital of the mountain tribe, to inquire, wherever he came, for the dwelling of the Roman family, whose arrival in the land, he doubted not, had excited no small rumour and attention.
There remained yet two hours to sunset, when, passing through some gentle hills, Theodore suddenly found himself on the banks of a small but beautiful lake, surrounded on three sides by the mountains. The shore, at the spot where he stood, was low and sandy, with here and there a fringe of long reeds, mingling the water with the land, but on all the other sides the banks were more abrupt. From the lake up to the very sky on those three sides stretched the upland, rising in different ranges, like Titan steps whereby to scale the heavens, but divided at different angles by intervening valleys, up which was seen the long blue perspective of interminable hills beyond. The first step of that mountain throne, carpeted as if with green velvet, by pastures still unimbrowned and rich, was covered with sheep and cattle feeding in peace. Beyond that appeared a range, clothed with glowing woods of oak, and elm, and beech, filled with the more timid and gentle inhabitants of the sylvan world; while above, tenanted by the wolf, the fox, and other beasts of prey, stretched wide the region of the pine and fir; and, towering over all, gray, cold, and awful, rose the peaks of primeval granite, with nothing but the proud eagle soaring between them and heaven. Below, the lake, unruffled by a breeze, lay calm and still, offering a mirror to the beauty of the scene, where every line of picturesque loveliness was reflected without a change, and every hue of all the varied colouring around, from the rich brown of the autumnal woods to the purple of the distant mountains, and the floods of amber and of rose that evening was pouring along the glowing sky.
Upon the lower range of hills many a wooden cottage, neat and clean, was to be seen; and several villages, peeping from the first woods, varied the scene with the pleasant aspect of intelligent life; and as, winding round the left shore, the young Roman and his companions advanced towards a spot at the other end of the lake where they proposed to pass the night, a thousand new beauties opened out upon their sight. Theodore gazed around, thinking that here indeed he could spend his days in peace; and, perhaps, he might envy the shepherd-boys that looked down upon him from low flat-topped hills under which he passed, or the women and girls who, sitting by the cattle at pasture, roused themselves for a moment from their pleasant idleness to mark the troop of horsemen passing by.
At length, upon the verge of a smooth meadow, which covered the summit of a steep green hill at the foot of the higher mountains--jutting out in the form of a small promontory above the road he was pursuing, with the green edge cutting sharp upon the blue mountain air beyond--he beheld a group of people gathered together, apparently enjoying the evening sunshine. Neither sheep nor cattle were near; and though the dark line of the figures, diminished by distance, were all that Theodore could see as they stood on the clear, bright back-ground, yet in those very lines, and in the graceful attitudes which the figures assumed as they stood or sat, there was something so Grecian and classical, so unlike the forms offered by a group of barbarians, that the heart of the young Roman felt a thrill of hope which made it beat high.
Suddenly reining in his horse, he stopped to gaze; the glad hope grew into more joyful certainty; and, without further thought or hesitation, carried away by feelings which refused control, he urged his horse at the gallop up the steep side of the hill, nor paused, even for a moment, till he had reached the summit. The Huns gazed with surprise from below, and beheld him, when he had arrived at the top, spring from his horse in the midst of the group which had caught his attention, and, with many an embrace and many a speaking gesture, receive his welcome to the bosom of ancient affection.
"He has found his home!" they said to one another as they saw his reception; and, winding round by a more secure path, they followed up to the summit of the hill, perceiving, as they ascended, a number of beautiful mountain dwellings congregated in the gorge of a ravine behind.
Oh who can tell what were in the mean time the emotions which agitated the group above! To Theodore it was the fruition of a long-cherished hope. He held his Ildica in his arms, he pressed her to his heart, he saw those dark and lustrous eyes, swimming in the light of love's delicious tears, gaze at him with the full, passionate earnestness of unimpaired affection; he tasted once more the breath of those sweet lips, he felt once more the thrilling touch of that soft hand. She was paler than when he had left her, but in her countenance there was--or seemed in his eyes to be--a crowning charm gained since he last had seen it. There was in its expression a depth of feeling, an intensity of thought, which, though softened and sweetened by the most womanly tenderness and youthful innocence which human heart ever possessed, added much to the transcendent beauty that memory had so often recalled. In her form, too, there had been a slight change, which had rendered the symmetry perfect without brushing away one girlish grace. Flavia, too, had a part in his glad feelings, as with the full measure of maternal tenderness she held him in her arms, and blessed the day which gave him back to those who loved him. Eudochia also, over whose head the passing months had fled, maturing her youthful beauty, clung round her brother, and with eyes of joyful welcome gazed silently up in his face.
Ammian was not there: gone, they said, to hunt the izzard and wild-goat among the highest peaks of the mountain; but the slaves and freedmen who had followed Flavia still, through every change of fortune, drew closer round, and with smiling lips and sparkling eyes greeted the young Roman on his return among them. It was not long ere his attendants joined him; and as there was much to be inquired and much to be told on all parts, Flavia speedily led the way to the dwelling which she had obtained in the land of the Alani; and Theodore, with Ildica's hand clasped in his, and Eudochia hanging to his arm, followed to the little group of houses which filled the gorge above.
Oh what a change from the palace of Diocletian! the marble columns, the resplendent walls, the sculptured friezes, the rich-wrought capitals! All was of woodwork, neat, clean, and picturesque: spacious withal, and convenient, though simple and unassuming. Within, Flavia, and her children and attendants, had laboured hard to give it the appearance of a Roman dwelling, trying, by the presence of old accustomed objects, to cheat memory and banish some of her sad train of regrets; nor had they been unsuccessful in producing the appearance they desired, for all that they had brought from Salona, and which, under the safe escort of the Huns, had been conveyed from the neighbourhood of Margus thither, enabled them to give an air of Roman splendour to the interior of their rude habitation.
In the village Theodore's attendants found an abode, while he himself, once more in the midst of all he now loved on earth, if we except Ammian, sat down to the evening meal, and listened eagerly to the details of everything that had occurred to Flavia and her family since he parted with them on the verge of the barbarian territory. Their journey had been long and fatiguing, the matron said, but safe and uninterrupted, and their reception among the simple mountaineers had been kind and tender. The choice of a dwelling had been left to themselves; and though the capital of the tribe was situated in the valley of the Inn, they had fixed upon the spot where they now were for their abode as one less subject to the passage of strangers or to the inroads of inimical neighbours.
The most important part of the tale, however, was to come: scarcely a month ere Theodore had arrived, ambassadors from Valentinian had presented themselves at the court of the King of the Alani, and Flavia and her family had held themselves for a time in even deeper retirement than before; but, to their surprise, one morning the envoys appeared at their dwelling by the lake, and the Roman lady found, with no slight astonishment, that Valentinian was already aware of her residence among the Alani. The mission of the ambassadors to the barbarian chief was one of small import, but to Flavia they bore a message from the emperor of unwonted gentleness. He invited her to fix her abode in the Western empire; promised her protection against all her enemies, and full justice in regard to all her claims; nor could she doubt, from the whole tenour of his message, that, with the usual enmity of rival power, even when lodged in kindred hands, whoever was looked upon as an enemy by Theodosius, was regarded as a friend by Valentinian. Flavia, however, without absolutely refusing to accept the fair offers of the emperor, had assigned as a motive for delaying to reply, that she expected daily to receive tidings from the son of Paulinus.
Theodore mused at these tidings; but Eudochia, who with childless thoughtlessness looked upon all that happened to themselves as of very little import whenever it was over, now pressed eagerly to hear the adventures of her brother since they had parted; and Ildica also, with a deeper interest than common curiosity, looked up in his face with eyes that seemed to say, "I have waited long, beloved, that you might be satisfied first, but oh, make me a sharer now in all that has occurred to one far dearer than myself."
Theodore needed no entreaty, but began his story, and with minute detail related all that had occurred to him during the last few months. Was there any part of that history which he did not tell, any of the events that had checkered his fate which he omitted in his narration? There were! A feeling of tenderness, of interest, of gratitude, kept him silent upon some points of the history of Bleda's daughter. He spoke of Neva, indeed; he told how she had nursed him in sickness, and how she had delivered him from captivity; but he could not, and he did not tell, while many an ear was listening, that she had bestowed the first love of her young heart upon one who could not return it.
Flavia hearkened to the tale, and at that part of it which related to Bleda's daughter her eyelids fell a little over her eyes. It was not that she doubted Theodore, for there was a simplicity and candour in all he said which admitted no suspicion; but she deemed how it was, and for the sake of the poor girl she was grieved that it should be so. Ildica, possessed but by one feeling, suspected and divined nothing; her only comment was, as she heard of his danger and escape, "Oh, why was it not I to whom the means of saving you were given?"
"Thank God, my Ildica," replied Theodore, "that you were far from such scenes and such dangers." But, as he was proceeding to conclude his tale, there were quick steps heard without, and the voice of Ammian singing gayly as he returned successful from his mountain sport.
Hitherto we have given nearly a connected narrative; but now it may become necessary to proceed sometimes in detached scenes, leaving the mind of the reader to fill up the obvious chain of intervening facts.
Theodore and Ildica sat alone by the banks of the lake, with their eyes fixed upon the rippling waters that came whispering up nearly to their feet; and they gained, without knowing it, a tone of calm repose, in the midst of their hearts' thrilling enjoyment, from the tranquillity of the scene around, and the bright, untroubled softness of a fine autumn day. If, when they met on the preceding evening, Theodore had been moved by joy, such as his heart had never known before, Ildica's had been still more agitated, for delight had been carried to its fullest height by surprise. Theodore had come thither with expectation and hope as the harbingers of gratification; but to Ildica, the joy of his coming had burst suddenly forth, like the May-day sun when he scatters the clouds of morning from his path. Neither, however, the youth nor the maiden had been able to pause, and--if I may use so strange a term--enjoy their joyduring the first evening after his arrival. The mind of each had been full of whirling images of pleasure, but with forms scarcely definite. Now, however, as they sat by the side of that calm lake, amid those glorious mountains, with a sky clear, but not burning, above their heads, and the fresh stillness of the early morning pervading all the air, the solemn tranquillity of the scene sunk into their souls, and bade their mutual thoughts flow on in peace.
The history of all external events which had befallen them had been told, it is true, by Flavia and Theodore, and many a little trait had been added by Eudochia, Ammian, and Ildica herself; but still she and her lover had both a long history to tell of thoughts and feelings, hopes and fears, of far deeper interest to each other than things that might seem of greater importance. Ildica towards Theodore had no thought concealed. No idle fear of lessening the value of her love by displaying it put an unnatural bar upon the pure feelings of her heart: not a doubt of his generous construction of all that she said fettered her words or embarrassed the expression of her thoughts; and she poured forth, without fear or hesitation, the tale of all she had felt since she left him in the hands of the Huns; how she had wept, and how she had feared; how she had daily looked for some tidings from him, or some change in her own fate; and how she had consoled herself with the remembrance of the extraordinary power he seemed to have obtained over the barbarian king.
The telling of that tale, now that the dangers were over and the fears gone by, was in itself a happiness; and, mingled with many a look of love and accent of affection, and many a tender caress, Ildica's narrative of all that she had felt proceeded, till, in the end, she had to relate how, on the very preceding night, while sitting on the little promontory with Eudochia, and her mother, and the slaves, there had been something in the situation which--though unlike in all the features of the landscape, though the air was colder, and the mountains nearer, and the sky of a paler hue--recalled the lovely Dalmatian shore to her mind; and how in the magic glass of memory had risen up the mound of cypresses, and the bay of Salona, and the glorious sunset, and all the objects and all the feelings of that well-remembered evening when her lover had last returned from the city of the emperors; and how, at those thoughts, the unbidden tears were rising even to overflowing in her eyes, when she saw a horseman suddenly gallop up the hill, and wild hopes and joyful presentiments had rushed through her heart, and taken from her all power of speech or motion, till she was once more clasped in his arms.
Theodore, too, had his tale to tell; and now, to the ear of her he loved, it was not less full or less candid than her own had been. He gave her a picture of all his thoughts in every situation through which he had passed, and her own unconscious questions soon brought the narrative towards Neva. But Theodore felt that he could trust in Ildica, and he told her all; and, with his arm circling her waist, he pressed her more tenderly, more closely to his bosom while he spoke of the love of another, as if he sought thereby to express how much more dear she had become to his heart under every change and every circumstance.
Neither did he do the daughter of the barbarian chief the injustice of breathing the tale of her unhappy love, without adding every pure and noble trait which had shone out in her conduct; and Ildica, who had listened with a beating heart but not a doubting mind, pressed her eyes, in which were some tears, upon Theodore's bosom, saying, "Poor girl, I am sorry for her! I wonder not at her loving you, Theodore. It is but too natural she should; and oh, I am sure that her love for one so much above any being that she ever saw before will last, unhappily for herself, through all her life. She will compare every one with you, and every one will fall short. I am sorry for her, beloved; and yet, Theodore, yet I could not share your love with any one; I could not part with the smallest portion of that treasure for a world. See how selfish and miserly I have become!"
"None can ever take the slightest portion from thee, my Ildica," replied Theodore; "from infancy to death there shall be but one image which shall fill my heart. But to do poor Neva justice, she seeks not to rob my Ildica of that which is Ildica's own. She would not share in a heart that is given to another, Ildica, even if she could; and as, from all that has passed from her father's hatred towards me, and the injuries he has done me, it is impossible that Neva and I should ever meet again, I trust that she will forget feelings which were suddenly raised, checked almost in their birth, and have no food on which to feed and prolong their existence--I trust she will forget--"
"Never, Theodore! never!" cried Ildica; "such feelings are not to be forgotten. She will see none like you; but, even if she did, she would fancy none she saw your equal. The memory of having saved you from death, too, will perpetuate her love--ay, the memory of that action, and the memory of her love, will go down together with her to the tomb, embalming and preserving each other."
"I trust not, my Ildica, I trust not," he replied.
"Oh, Theodore," she answered, "were I absent from you for long years, separated from you even by impassable barriers, would you love me less? could you forget our love?"
"No, certainly not," replied Theodore; "but our love is mutual and full of mutual hopes. Her love is hopeless and unreturned; and I trust she will forget it."
"Such may be the case with man," answered Ildica. "Hopeless and unreturned, his love may, perhaps, seek another object. Woman loves but once, and never forgets, my Theodore. My heart tells it me even now; and though in such things I have, of course, but little skill, yet I feel and know that time, absence, despair itself, could never make me forget my love for thee. The time must come when remembrance shall be extinguished in the grave, and the fine lines traced by the diamond style of love on the tablets of the spirit may be hidden for a while beneath the dust of the tomb; but to that cold dwelling-house shall the unfaded recollection go down with me; and when I waken again from the sleep of death, the memory of my love shall waken with me--I feel--I know it will;" and, as she spoke, she raised her eyes to heaven, while the rays of the morning light danced in their liquid lustre, as if they, too, were of kindred with the sky.
Theodore pressed her to his heart, and long and sweet was the communion that followed; but we cannot, we will not further dwell upon things that those who have loved truly will understand without our telling, and that those who have never so loved cannot comprehend at all. Let them be sacred! those holy feelings of the pure and high-toned heart; those sweet, ennobling emotions of the unpolluted soul. Let them be sacred! those sensations, intense yet timid, pure and unalloyable as the diamond, as firm, as bright, as unspotted; but which, like a precious jewel that baser minds would ever fain take from us, are wisely concealed by those who possess them from the gaze of the low and the unfeeling. We seek not to display--we would not if we could--all the finer shades, the tenderer emotions, of the love of Theodore and Ildica. We have raised the veil enough to show how they did love, and we will raise it no further.
The days of his stay passed in visions of happiness to Ildica and himself, a long, dreamy lapse of exquisite delight. Beyond each other, and the few dear beings around them, what was the world to them I The limits of that valley were the limits of their thoughts; and, whether they sailed on the bosom of the lake, or climbed the giant mountains round about, or wandered through the rustling woods, or sat upon the shore and watched the tiny billows of that miniature sea, the thoughts of the two lovers were only of each other, though the lovely scene, mountain, and stream, and woods, and lakes, and meadows, mingled insensibly with their own dream of happiness, heightened the colouring of their hopes, and, in return, received a brighter hue itself. Sweet, oh, how sweet! were the hours, and yet how rapidly they flew; till at length, when they rose one morning and gazed forth, a wreath of snow was seen hanging upon the peaks of the mountains--not alone upon those higher summits, on whose everlasting ice the summer sun shone vainly through his longest, brightest hours, but on those lower hills which the day before had risen up in the brown veil of the autumnal forest, or the green covering of grass, or the gray nakedness of the native stone. It was the signal for Theodore to depart; and then came the hours, ere he set out, of melancholy and of gloom.
Those hours, however, were broken by many a long and anxious consultation. The offered hospitality and protection of Valentinian had yet to be considered, for it was a proposal which, if even not accepted at once, both Theodore and Flavia judged might prove of great utility at an after period. No one could tell either what changes might take place in the positions of the barbarian nations, or what might be the final result of the victories and successes of Attila himself. Where he might next turn his arms was a question which none even of his own court could solve; and while it was evident to all that a victorious and devastating excursion against the Eastern empire was by no means the ulterior purpose of his powerful and ambitious mind, yet no one could divine what was the end proposed, or whither the pursuit might lead. Under these circumstances, to have a place of refuge open against the storm of war was always a blessing; and Theodore strongly counselled Flavia to despatch messengers to the emperor, charged with thanks, and such presents as circumstances permitted her to send; not exactly accepting the offer of asylum he had made, but expressing a purpose of taking advantage thereof at no very distant period.
"Were you to go thither even next year," Theodore observed, while speaking on the subject with Flavia alone, "Ammian would be some protection to you all; for I remark that his bold spirit and his mountain sports are every day giving greater vigour to his limbs, and his frame is towering up towards manhood. A year will do much in such pastimes as these, while the free and wild simplicity of the barbarian habits will secure him against the weak and effeminate manners of Rome; and, at the same time, it were but right and necessary that both he and Eudochia should receive that civilized education which can be obtained nowhere but in the empire."
"Alas! my son," replied Flavia, "I fear that it will be long ere Ammian can give us that protection which thou mightst do; for, though courageous to a fault, and resolute, yet there is a wild and heedless spirit in his breast which often prevents his nobler qualities from acting as they might. His heart is kind and generous, his mind upright and noble; but in the exuberance of his youthful daring, and the wanderings of a wild imagination, he forgets too often, Theodore, that there is such a thing as danger to himself or others. He wants prudence, he wants consideration, he wants that calm presence of mind which sees under all circumstances that which is best to do, and is ever ready to do it."
"But, my mother, he is yet but a boy," replied Theodore: "time will give prudence, experience will give judgment, and age will tame quickly the wildest and most wandering fancy. At all events, I only desire that you should have a refuge prepared. Doubtless--both because this mighty barbarian does really, I believe, regard me with affection, and because he has been taught to imagine that there is some mysterious connexion between his fate and mine--doubtless, I say, he will allow me from time to lime to renew the visit he has now permitted; at all events, I will find means to send, both to give you my tidings and to gain news from you. If there be danger, I will let you know, and be ready ever, upon but a short warning, to fly to the court of Valentinian. As I go hence, I shall visit the capital of the Alani by the banks of the Inn; for the kindred that I have among them might think it strange and wrong were I to pass through the land without seeing them; and, when there, of course I will do all I can to ensure that the refuge which you have here received shall be as safe, as peaceful, and as happy as it can be made. There is much in the ties of blood, even between a Roman and barbarian, and I think that my requests will find favour among the Alani."
Theodore would fain have lingered and protracted the hours; for although he knew that he soon must go, and the thought of parting sadly imbittered even the present, yet around Ildica there was to him an atmosphere of light and happiness, which banished all that was dark and gloomy from his heart. But he had made a promise to Attila, and with Theodore a promise was inviolable. Ildica, too, would fain have detained him, would have fain drank slowly out the last sweet drops of the cup of happiness which had been offered to her lip: they were but the dregs, it is true, and bitter was mixed with them, but yet the taste of joy remained; and if she could not have it pure and unalloyed, she yet lingered over the last portion, however sadly mingled. But Theodore had given a promise; and Theodore's unstained integrity and unvarying truth were as dear to Ildica as to himself--were dearer, far dearer, than any personal enjoyment. She would not have him forfeit his word to Attila, in order to remain with her, for all that the world could give; and she herself bade him go whenever she learned that he had barely time to accomplish his journey by the path that it was necessary for him to follow. They parted--not now, however, as when last they parted; for then before them had stretched out nothing but one vague and indefinite expanse--the gray cloud of the future! on which even the eye of fancy could scarcely trace one likely form, through which the star of hope shone faint and powerless. Now, after all those fearful scenes and that dreadful separation--scenes and circumstances which had benumbed their feelings, and, like some crashing wound, which by its very severity deprives the sufferer of his sense of pain, had left them bewildered and almost unconscious, till time had shown them the deprivation they had undergone. Now they had met again; hopes that they had scarcely dared to entertain had been realized ere the heart grew weary with delay. They had known a longer and more tranquil period of happiness than they had ever tasted since first the mutual love of their young hearts had been spoken to each other; and hope, the sweet sophist, skilful in turning to her purpose all things that befall, drew arguments from past joy in order to prove her promises for the future true.
They parted then: Ildica declared that she wished him to go, and Theodore strengthened himself in the remembrance of his promise. Yet, nevertheless, let no one think that their parting was not bitter: Theodore struggled even against a sigh; and over the cheeks of Ildica rolled no tear, though on the dark long lashes that fringed her eyelids would sparkle like a crushed diamond the irrepressible dew of grief. Yet, nevertheless, let no one think the parting is ever less than bitter, when, even in the brightest day of youth, two hearts united by the great master bond which God assigned to man to bind him in the grievous pilgrimage of life to one chosen from all his kind, are separated from one another for long indefinite hours, with loneliness of feeling and the dim uncertainty of human fate hanging over them like a dark cloud. Who shall say, when thus they part, that they shall ever meet again? Who shall say with what dark barrier the mighty hand of destiny may not close the way? whether death, or misfortune, or interminable difficulty may not cut short hope or weary out the spirit in the bondage of circumstance, till expectation is vain of reunion on this side the tomb?
They parted firmly: but such partings are ever bitter; and when Theodore was gone, Ildica wept for long hours in silence; while he, as he rode on, beheld nothing of all that surrounded him; for the soul was then in the secret chamber of the heart, communing sternly with her own grief.
Footnote 1: It may not, perhaps, be unnecessary to remind the reader that Christianity, though established in both the eastern and western empires, was still far from universal; and even in the minds of its most enthusiastic votaries was strangely mingled with the picturesque superstitions of a former creed; so that the same man was often a Christian in belief, who was pagan in many of his habits and almost all his familiar expressions.
Footnote 2: Cowley.
Footnote 3: The learned reader will perceive that I have changed the last syllable of this name, for the sake of a more regular feminine termination than the original gives, in sound at least, to an English ear. Let me acknowledge at once, also, that I have followed the same bold plan throughout, changing everything that did not suit my purpose.
Footnote 4: In "The Story of Azimantium," which I published about six years ago in Blackwood's Magazine, and which has since been re-published in "The Desultory Man," I gave very nearly the same account of this great earthquake with that here given. The actors and the scene are different; but the principal facts, being founded on historical truth, are the same.
Footnote 5: He was at this time probably an Arian; but there is reason to believe that his family had long held their ancient religion, against all the decrees of the Christian emperors.
Footnote 6: It was called Astur, and is supposed to have been the same as the tributary bird of the Tartars named the Schongar.
Footnote 7: We find from all records that the Huns were peculiarly fond of gaming and of buffoons.
Footnote 8: Not only was such the case, but in various contentions in the empire, hired bodies of the Huns were frequently found fighting on both sides, and doing their duty faithfully.
Footnote 9: It would appear, from various accounts, that the tremendous title by which Attila was well pleased to be known, was given to him as stated above, though some lay the scene of his interview with the hermit in Gaul.
Footnote 10: Both the Greek and Roman historians strive to impress their readers with the idea that the Huns were mere Scythian savages; but at every line they let fall something which impugns this assertion. We find that gold, gems, silver, tables, various kinds of drinks of their own manufacture, firearms and equipments, jesters, dwarfs, singing, and several games of chance, were common among them: and, in short, that there was an extraordinary mixture of civilized arts with barbarian habits.
Footnote 11: Crucifixion, which we have reason to believe one of the most agonizing kinds of death, was one of the common punishments among the Huns.