Trent was still in the possession of the Huns--though the main body of their innumerable host had passed on--when, on the third day after the departure of Theodore, two young and beautiful beings stood before the altar of the high church of that venerable city, in youth's brightest day to pass youth's brightest hour. There is certainly, in that peculiar moment of happiness in which the young heart of woman plights its full faith to the man she loves, a beautifying influence, which gives to features not otherwise remarkable a loveliness of expression that they possess not at other times. It is the beaming forth of the sweet chastened joy of fulfilled hope and gratified love: it is the picture presented by the speaking face of many of those beautiful feelings whereof external loveliness is but the type and symbol. Joy, timid modesty, pure affection, bright hope, unshaken faith, the fruition of long-nourished wishes, the fulfilment of the brightest expectation of a woman's heart--all, all are there when she kneels before the altar with the man she loves, to bind that solemn tie which nothing but the grave should break.
There knelt Eudochia by the side of Ammian; and though a slight shade of sympathizing melancholy stole across the sunshine of her face when she turned her eyes on Ildica, yet her look was as bright as hope and happiness could make it, and in the serious but still enthusiastic countenance of her young lover might be read, in its very gravity, a deeper happiness than ever his lighter smiles betrayed.
Ildica, poor Ildica, had twined the flowers in the fair bride's hair; and though a tear had fallen upon them, spangling their sweet leaves like a drop of morning dew, yet she had struggled hard to banish every selfish regret, and share to the full in the joy of those dear beings whose union, and, as she trusted, whose happiness that day was to secure.
Beside Ildica stood her mother; but oh! what a sad change had the passing of less than five years wrought in the fair form of Flavia, since first we saw her on the bright shores of the Adriatic. She had known grief, deep grief before that period; she had tasted disappointment, and undergone misfortune of many kinds: but there is a time of life when the springs of health and sources of enjoyment flow up so full and bounteously, that the most scorching heat cannot dry them up; when the earthquake itself cannot overwhelm them; when still they flow on, under the fiercest sun of summer, and are but choked up in one place to burst forth and sparkle in another. But there comes an after period, when, choked up and nearly obliterated by the sands of time, the fire of lesser misfortunes will exhaust them quite, and leave the empty fountain, the dried-up spring, without a drop of water to moisten the lip of hope. So had it been with Flavia: the misfortunes of her early years, the loss of her loved husband, the tyranny of a capricious and greedy monarch, an anxious widowhood, watching over her orphan children, had rendered the stream of life calm and dull, but had not diminished its waters nor seemed likely to shorten its course. But when a later epoch of existence had come on, and fresh sorrows, labours, anxieties, and cares had fallen fast about her, the very hopes she had nourished, and the placid joys which had rendered life verdant, faded by the wintry blast of late disappointment, like the withered leaves of winter trees above a fountain, had dropped fast and thick, and filled up the very well of life itself. Her step was feeble; her once bright eye was dim; and though the graceful line of that fair form remained, though the black hair was little more silvery than before, and the white teeth had lost none of their ivory purity, yet the pallour of her countenance, the bloodless lip, the languid, drooping eyelid, and the quick, difficult respiration, all spoke that "the body was broken by its cares and labours," and the spirit, weary of its ruined tenement, was hesitating whether it should not fly for repose.
She gazed, however, with a bright and cheering smile upon Ammian and Eudochia, as they knelt to pledge that sacred vow which she, too, hoped and believed would secure for them as much happiness as this world could bestow. She herself felt within her bosom rise up at the sight the memory of bright hopes and aspirations passed away, and the spring of life for the moment flowed more freely. They, as they looked upon her, saw a happy change, and gladdened their own hearts by the thought that her health was better, and looked forward to the future with hopes for her as well as for themselves.
Others, however, were present in the church; and Attila himself, with arms folded on his bosom, stood not inattentive to the words which a Christian priest addressed to the fair young beings met together there to be parted no more. That priest was a venerable and a fearless man; and after his blessing had been spoken, and the indissoluble contract sealed, he poured forth an exhortation to maintain and hold fast the purer faith in which they had been educated, touching boldly on the doctrines of his holy religion as conrasted with the pagan superstition of many who heard him, and appealing to the consciences of all men to decide whether sublime purity of soul and body were not the doctrines which God might teach and men revere.
Attila listened in silence, though many of the barbarian chieftains around frowned angrily to hear their ancient faith assailed from the lips of one of a people whom they looked upon as conquered and trodden upon under foot. Attila, however, listened, as we have said, in silence; and only twice during all that ceremony did he take his eyes from the priest, to turn them for a moment upon the lovely countenance of Ildica, and glance over that unrivalled form which might well have made the sculptor blush at his imperfect works. They were withdrawn as quickly as turned thither, and he fixed them on the priest again, and listened to his glowing eloquence as one who could admire, though unconvinced.
The ceremony was over, the prayer prayed, the exhortation made. The feet of Ammian's horse was heard without pawing impatiently the ground; the litter which was to bear Eudochia into Thrace was prepared; the slaves who were to accompany her, and the guards which Attila had directed to conduct them in safety to the frontiers of the Eastern empire, stood ready before the gate. But when the bridegroom and the bride rose up from the altar, without turning to bid their mother farewell, they advanced hand in hand to Attila, and knelt together at his feet.
"Oh, great king!" said Ammian, "thou hast made us happy, and we have to beseech thee to add yet one favour more. To return unto our native land is joy, for we love no land like that; but if our mother return not with us, the joy withers, and, like a flower in the night, it may be beautiful, but we cannot see it for want of the sunshine to make it expand. Let us beseech thee, then, oh king! crown thy great goodness unto us, and either let our mother and our sister bear us company on the way, or let us remain here till they may go there too."
Attila listened with the same calm, steadfast look which in former days used never to be absent from his countenance; and no features of his face could have betrayed the slightest emotion produced by the words of Ammian. When the youth had done, he replied, "Thy mother and thy sister must not depart; and I have promised the son of Paulinus that thou shouldst join him with his sister in Thrace."
He paused for a moment, and thought deeply, turned his eyes to Ildica and Flavia, and then added, "Nevertheless, ye shall stay or go, as your mother wills. If ye go not, the breach of the promise be upon you. Attila has prepared to fulfil it; but he will not, he cannot drive a son from a mother, and that mother ill as she is."
Ammian and Eudochia rose and clung to Flavia, each exclaiming, "Oh let us stay, my mother! let us stay till Theodore returns!"
Flavia pressed them to her heart, and kissed the fair brow of that sweet girl; but she did not reply for some moments; while Eudochia, linking her hand in that of Ildica, exclaimed, "Plead for us, dear Ildica! Plead for us, my sister!" and Ildica turned her lustrous eyes upon her mother, as if doubting and inquiring what she should do.
To Flavia it was a moment of the most intense pain, to which the heart of any mortal being can be subject--it was the struggle of duty against the tenderest, the noblest of human affections. It was a dying mother placing one of her children in safety, with the certainty of never beholding him again, even while obliged to leave another in the midst of perils without any support. It was a moment of most intense, intolerable pain; and yet she conquered it.
"Eudochia," she said, calmly, "it must not be, my beloved child! Ammian, do not agitate and distress me! Theodore might wait for you. Your staying might delay his return. At all events, it is but for a short time that we are parted," and she raised her eyes to heaven, while her lips still moved, but in silence. "Go, my children, go," she said: "hasten Theodore's return; bear him my blessing."
"Must it be, my mother?" cried Ammian.
"It must, beloved!" answered Flavia, kissing him. "Take her, oh take her from me," she added, unclasping the arms of Eudochia, who clung round her knees weeping. "Dear, affectionate girl, farewell! Take her, Ammian, take her! God's blessing and her mother's be upon you, my sweet children!" Ammian raised Eudochia, and half bore, half led her from the church.
The eyes of Attila remained fixed upon the countenance of Flavia with a deep, earnest, contemplative gaze, which might have been painful to her had not other feelings absorbed every thought; and when, as Ammian and Eudochia disappeared through the portal, Flavia raised her robe to her eyes, and for the first time wept, Attila, the stern, dark Attila himself was moved, and pressing his sinewy hand upon his brow, he exclaimed aloud, "Noble, noble woman!" Then turned, and, as if stung by some sudden pang, strode hastily out of the church.
There came a sound of rude music from without, and of young voices singing, as a troop of boys and girls, gathered together for the marriage, accompanied Eudochia and Ammian on their way to the gate of the city. But oh, how strange and harsh sounded that bridal song upon the ears of the sad few who remained within the church! Flavia stood and wept; and the large drops rolled slowly over the fair cheek of Ildica. But at length Ardaric, who had not followed Attila when he departed, advanced, and in a kindly tone which spoke to their hearts, notwithstanding his small knowledge of their language, bade them take comfort.
"Let us leave this place," he said at length. "You have need, lady, of repose: to-morrow night the last of our forces leave Tridentum. It were needful for thee to pass all the intervening time in repose: and if thou wouldst take some simples, such as our people know well how to prepare, it might give thee strength for the journey. But let us leave this place--the sight of it only makes thee grieve."
"Let those sounds cease without, and then I will go," replied Flavia; and as soon as all was quiet in the street, the mother and the daughter, left alone in the midst of a strange and barbarous host, took their sad way back towards the dwelling which they had inhabited since their arrival in the city of Trent. There Ardaric left them; and, entering into their own apartments, Flavia sent away all the slaves.
As soon as she was alone with her daughter, to the surprise and grief of Ildica, the lady sunk upon her knees at her own child's feet. "Pardon me, Ildica, pardon your mother," she said--"pardon your mother, if, in the agony of this day, and in the anxiety to secure safety and happiness for one child, I have failed to purchase, even at his risk, support and protection for another."
Ildica cast her arms around her, and striving hard to smile, she said, "Alas, alas! dear mother, why should you ask pardon of me? Know you not that your Ildica would gladly, willingly sacrifice everything but virtue, and honour, and the love of those who love her, to secure the happiness of her dear brother and the sweet sister of her infancy. Oh no, think not that I regret even for a moment that you have sent them from us, if by their presence they could not have comforted and supported you. Ildica has a resolute heart, my mother, and can bear, with strong determination, whatever fate her God may send her. With her own hand she can protect her honour, if need should be; and she fears nothing else; for death is little terrible to her, and that is the worst that can befall."
"But, alas! you know not all, my child," answered Flavia, sinking into the seat to which her daughter led her, but still holding Ildica's hand, and gazing in her face. "Dear, beloved girl. I am dying!"
"Speak not such cruel words, dear mother," replied Ildica, not knowing how terribly the ravager had proceeded in the frame of the loved being who was now her only support. "I see, indeed," she added, "that you are far from well; but I trust that fatigue and anxiety is the chief cause, and that now you have seen so happy an event as the marriage of our dear Ammian with Eudochia; now that you know them to be in safety; now that the speedy prospect of returning to our own land is open before us; now that nothing is wanting to our future peace and happiness but Theodore's return--I trust, I hope, I am sure, dear mother, that joy will prove a good physician, and restore you quite."
"Ildica," answered Flavia, "let us not deceive ourselves, my child. I shall never see the Dalmatian shores again. How long this shattered prison may keep the struggling spirit in its ruined walls, I know not; but in my bosom there is kept a fatal calendar, whereon is marked how much each day takes from the small remaining store of life, and I feel that that store is nearly gone. Like a spendthrift with his treasure, Ildica, I would now fain hoard the little that remains, but know not how, and fear that it will fail me soon. When, five days ago, we halted by the little lake in those grand mountains, I felt that death was coming, but still thought that repose might keep him yet at bay, and give me time to reach some surer resting-place. But in that day's repose, the active enemy still strode on his way; the next day's journey brought him nearer still; and the sad scene of your dear Theodore's parting led him onward almost to the door. I have shut my ear while he knocked, listening to Hope while Ammian's bridal has gone forward; but I felt that Death went with me into that church, and has come hither to sit beside me till I follow him to a brighter land, where the dark herald leaves us for ever at the gate."
Ildica wept bitterly; and her mother, after pausing for several minutes, proceeded:--"Must I tell thee not to weep, my child? Nay, I will not do thee so much wrong! Yes, weep, my Ildica! weep as I would weep for thee; but listen to me. I have said that I felt myself dying when in yon church I sent from us Ammian and Eudochia. I sent them from us, knowing that I might soon have to leave thee here alone, in the midst of a barbarous people, till thy Theodore, thy husband, shall return--alone, with no one to protect thee but domestic slaves, who, though faithful and attached, are still but slaves. Was not this cruel, Ildica? Wilt thou forgive me?"
"Forgive you, dear mother!" cried Ildica, looking up reproachfully at the very thought of forgiveness being necessary; "think you that for my selfish sorrows I would have had Ammian and Eudochia stay in scenes of danger, when peace, and joy, and safety were before them? If peril awaits me, Ammian could not, with his single hand, have averted it. If death be following me, too, in any shape, he could not have shielded me from the lifted dart; and--for the sake of a few kind words and tender consolations, the balm of sympathy, and the fine elixir of kind familiar looks to sooth and cure a wounded heart--think you, dear mother, that I would have perilled his young happiness, and perhaps cast the cloud of misfortune over his whole life? No; let me meet the coming ills alone. There are many with whom I would gladly share the cup of joy, but none whom I would force to drink a part of the bitterer draught which I am bound to quaff. Forgive you, dear mother! oh, there is nothing to forgive!"
"Dear Ildica," cried Flavia, pressing her to her bosom, "noble, beloved girl! Sure, sure I am that, through whatever scenes the will of Heaven may lead you, you will bear up nobly still, and never, never forget that you are the daughter of a Roman. Remember, Ildica--oh, ever remember--the land and race from which you spring. Think of their great deeds and steadfast courage. Remember that, among the best and greatest of our ancient names, your father might have boldly, confidently written down his own; and, whenever difficulty or peril falls upon you, think how a Roman of old days would then have acted, and so act!"
"I will, my mother," cried Ildica, sinking on her knees beside Flavia; "I promise you, by all which is most sacred, that I will! Nothing shall ever make me forget that I am a patrician's child, bound by my nobility of blood to noble conduct. And should the time ever come that I must be tried, the names of my ancestors shall not be blotted out from the roll of fame by any weakness of mine. I promise it! I vow it!" and, with high resolution beaming in her beautiful eyes, she rose, and stood in the majesty of loveliness by her dying mother's side.
"May God bless you, and give you strength in all things, my true child!" Flavia answered; "and yet, Ildica avoid all such trials; turn from all such dangers when you may. Seek not for dangers, but act boldly in them. And now, my child, one more direction, and I leave you to the keeping of your own heart and God's directing Spirit. If I should not live, which is, indeed, beyond all likelihood, to witness Theodore's return, let no vain sorrow for the dead restrain you from giving him your hand at once. If but a single day have passed since the grave has closed over me, meet at the altar with the tear of memory dimming the eye of hope; but delay not your union by a single hour. Wed him, my Ildica! wed your beloved without a hesitation; and fly with him, as speedily as may be, to our dear, beautiful land, where peace and safety shall attend you. To him, Ildica, to him only of all the world could I give you without a fear, without a sigh--to him, noble, just, wise, brave, firm yet tender, generous yet prudent, ardent yet temperate. Oh, Ildica! oh that I could see that day! my last, brightest hope, my fondest wish, my only remaining aspiration on this side of the grave would then be fulfilled; and, as calmly as for a happy sleep, I could lay down my head in the tomb and say, 'Come, quiet Death! life has all finished well!'"
The tears streamed anew down the cheeks of Ildica; and her mother, after a short pause, drew her gently to her, kissed her pure brow, and added, "Now leave me, my sweet child, for one half hour. We shall both be the better of a brief solitude."
Ildica withdrew without reply; for she sought not to add to her mother's emotions by emotions of her own. In her own chamber she turned the hourglass, neither to fall short of nor to exceed the space of time that Flavia had appointed; and she would fain have bent her thoughts to contemplate all the frowning features of her present fate, and the still darker countenance of the future. She felt, however, that to do so would unfit her mind for the task of soothing and consoling the last days of her mother; she felt that she might be shaken and overwhelmed by the burdens which she was destined at different times to bear, if she suffered imagination to attempt to raise them all up at once, in order to feel and try their weight. She resolved, then, that she would not contemplate them until they came upon her one by one; and, murmuring the holy maxim of Him who alone could teach us the wisdom from on high, "Sufficient for the day be the evil thereof," she sank upon her knees and passed the half hour in prayer. When she rose she was calm and prepared, feeling that, though philosophy may teach us to resist firmly the evils of life, it is only religion that can teach us to bear them meekly.
Her mother received her with a smile; and she, too, was calmer--for the fatal truth had been spoken between them, the dark secret had been told; and Flavia herself, prepared to die, was glad to have prepared Ildica for her death. The rest of the day passed over tranquilly; and Flavia seemed relieved, and even better. There was a slight flush upon her cheek, which, though it was not exactly the rosy hue of health, gave a false appearance of returning powers. Her eye, too, was bright, and she breathed, or fancied that she breathed, with less difficulty. She cherished no hope, however; and Ildica was not deceived into the belief that her mother could recover. Her disposition had once been full of hope; but the spring had lain so long under a heavy weight that it had lost its elasticity; and the evening passed calmly, but not cheerfully.
At length, towards her usual hour of retiring to rest, Flavia took out of a casket a golden bracelet of an antique form, and, laying it on her knee, gazed upon it thoughtfully. It had been the first present that she had received from her dead husband, and in all her wanderings, under every blast of adversity, that bracelet still had remained with her. She had worn it on the shores of Dalmatia; it had been carried forth amid the rocking of the earthquake; it had been restored, with other property, at the command of Attila, after having been taken by the Huns; she had possessed it among the Alani; she had carried it with her to Rome; she had brought it thence to where she sat even then. Every night, through a long life, she had gazed upon that token of early affection; and now, with her thoughts turning to her husband, she looked upon it again, thinking, "I go to join him, where we shall never be separated more!"
As she thus thought, she tried to clasp it on her arm: but suddenly it slipped from her fingers, rolled from her knee, and dropped upon the ground. With a quick motion, she stooped forward to catch it ere it fell or pick it up; then suddenly pressed her hand upon her breast, and sunk back upon the cushions that supported her, exclaiming, "My child! my Ildica!"
Ildica darted forward, and caught the hands that her mother now extended towards her. The lips of Flavia still moved, but no sound followed; she fixed her eyes with a look of deep love upon her child; the brightness of being was still there; the flame of life's lamp shone in them still brightly; but, in a moment after, it waxed dim and faint: light and life, lustre and meaning, passed away; the jaw fell; the features became rigid; and the gray hue of vacant death spread over the soulless countenance. A loud long shriek rang through those apartments; and when the slaves rushed in, they found their mistress dead, where she sat, and her daughter lying senseless at her feet.
Long and dark was the sleep that fell upon Ildica: the overwrought mind, the overexcited feelings, the heart and brain, stretched beyond their bearing to support each other, had worked in the mortal frame that complete overthrow of the equipoise which such a state almost invariably will produce. The sleep of Ildica's mind--for the reasoning soul remained asleep long after the eyes had opened again to the light of day after her mother's death--was not the sleep which brings repose; and when at length she really woke, and gazed about her with full returning consciousness, she found an unknown scene around her.
She was stretched upon a rich couch, round which fell the hangings of a tent; and though two of her own female attendants sat at the farther side, there was watching over her a face as beautiful as she had ever beheld, but which was altogether strange to her eye. It was beautiful, as I have said, most beautiful; and though the hair was dressed in the barbarian mode, and the garments were not such as the Romans wore, yet the pure and snowy skin showed tints very different from the dingy complexion of the Huns; and, though Ildica knew not the face, yet there was something in it--something in the exquisite loveliness of those devoted deep blue eyes--that was not unfamiliar to her imagination. It was as if somebody, in former times, had sung, or told, or written to her about eyes like those. Her mind, however, wandered still; and she could not recall where or how such an impression had been made upon her. But she saw, as she moved, those eyes bent upon her with a look of tender pity; and laying her hand upon that which rested on the couch beside her, she would have spoken, but her voice was so weak that she herself started at its altered sound.
"You are better," said Neva, for she it was who sat beside her--"you are better; I see you are better." And though the tongue in which she spoke was but a mixture of Latin with her barbarian dialect, yet her looks spoke eloquently, and Ildica began to remember, or rather to guess, who she was.
Neva watched her gently and assiduously; and Ildica recovered health and strength; and grateful and tender did she feel towards that fair companion, who wound herself day by day so closely round her heart, that she only wondered that Theodore could have continued to love Ildica when he had unknowingly won the heart of Neva. But though Ildica recovered rapidly, that illness had wrought a change. She remained long in deep silent fits of thought. Sometimes, when she was spoken to, her mind, intensely occupied with the dark past or the dim future, seemed to deaden her ear, and she made no reply. But, what was still more strange, she spoke of her mother, she talked of her death, she inquired of her burial, without a tear moistening her eyelids. She would fain have wept; she longed to do so; but no drops, no kind relieving drops came from the dried-up well to give her ease. Her mother and Theodore were the two great themes of her thoughts; and of her lover's coming back she talked with joy and smiles to her own attendants; but, with kindly care, which showed how thoughtful she was for others, she avoided, as far as possible, the mention of his name to Neva.
Bleda's daughter, indeed, was now her chief companion; shared the same tent, and spent whole hours with her on each succeeding day. On Ildica she seemed to look as on a superior being; and seated at her feet, with her arm resting on the fair Dalmatian's knee, she would gaze up into her face, trace all those beautiful lines, and mark the full lustrous eye, the swelling lip, and clear and rounded nostril, pure and defined, but soft and graceful as if chiselled from the Parian marble. Thus she would gaze, and think in her own mind, that it was no wonder such a face and form as that, with such a spirit as shone through all that beauty, had lighted and kept alive, as pure and unextinguished as the fire of Vesta, the flames of love within the heart of one worthy of her--within a heart incapable of forgetfulness or falsehood.
Twice only did it happen that Ildica, who, however sadly her own heart might be wrung, forgot not easily the feelings of another, mentioned even the name of Theodore in the hearing of Neva. The first time the fair girl coloured and looked down; but the second she was sitting, as we have said, at Ildica's feet; and though her countenance glowed, she gazed up and asked, "When you saw him, did he never mention Neva's name?"
Ildica bent down her head, and kissed the fair girl's brow, saying, "Yes, dear Neva, he did mention you."
"And what did he say?" demanded Neva, burying her face in Ildica's robe--"what did he say?"
"He told me," answered Ildica, pressing her hand gently, "he told me how kind and good you had been to him; how you attended him in sickness, saved him by your care from death, and rescued him in his moment of utmost danger from the hands of those who would have slain him. He told me all, dear Neva, he told me all."
Neva cast herself upon Ildica's bosom and wept. "Then he told you," she murmured, through her tears, "how I loved him, and how kindly and gently he soothed the feelings he could not return; how nobly and honestly he told me that he loved another, whom he must ever love."
Ildica pressed her in her arms; and, raising her eyes towards heaven, she said, in a low voice, "Oh God! why should I hope to be happy when this sweet being is wretched?"
"Nay, nay, Ildica," cried Neva, starting back as her ear caught those words, "I am not wretched; I am as happy as my state will admit; I am happy in possessing the next best blessing to the great one of his love. I have his friendship, his gratitude! I am happy in having served him; I am happy in having seen the being that he loves, and in loving her myself," and she pressed a fond kiss on Ildica's glowing cheek. "Now, Ildica," she continued, "now you know how I feel. I have seen you; I know you; I am sure you are worthy of him; and so help me all the gods, if it were in my power this moment to take him from you and bind him to myself, I would rather die than do it! Speak to me about him when you will, you will inflict no pain upon my heart. He is your own, your beloved, your rightful husband. Neva is contented with her lot."
Ildica smiled sadly. "Oh Neva," she answered, "it is hard to be generous in love! There is no one thing on earth I know of that I would not give to make you happy, except the affection of Theodore."
"And now I would not have it, could it be given," Neva replied; "but he will soon be back again, dear Ildica. More than three weeks out of the two months allotted for his absence have already passed, and he will soon be here: Ildica will then be his bride, and Neva will weave the bridal flowers for her hair. Only remain within your tent, Ildica, as long as you can; and when the army marches on again, be carried in your litter without speaking, so that Attila may think you are still ill."
Ildica started, and gazed on Neva with surprise. "Why should I try to deceive Attila?" she demanded: "I have long wondered why you should oppose my going forth to breathe the free outward air when I am ill no longer. Tell me, dear Neva, tell me what I have done to offend Attila?"
"You have done nothing to offend him," answered Neva: "oh no; it is not his wrath that we fear! It is, that the sight of your beauty might inflame his love. Therefore was it that Ardaric, who loves your Theodore, so strongly counselled that you should hold the semblance of sickness as long as may be."
Ildica sank back upon the cushions that supported her, and hid her pale face in her hands, as if the doom of death had been pronounced in her ear. Terror overcame every reasoning power for some moments, and it seemed as if the fate which had been spoken of as merely possible, was certain and inevitable; and with her hands covering her face and her bosom heaving with convulsive sobs, she sat for several moments in silence; while Neva, alarmed by the state into which her words cast her, tried, by every kindly effort, to sooth and reassure her.
At length the fair Roman suddenly removed her hands, exclaiming, "I had forgot myself, Neva! and had given way to terror, a feeling that should have no empire in my bosom. I do not, I will not fear this man, terrible as he is. I will hide myself from his eyes most willingly. Till Theodore comes back, I will never leave my tent: but if my evil fate should draw his looks upon me; if what you fear on my account should occur, he shall find that the daughter of a Roman can act a Roman's part. No, I will not leave this tent till Theodore returns."
"Alas! dearest Ildica," replied Neva, "ere two days be over you will be forced to leave it. Attila has ravaged all this part of the country: these plains, so fertile and so populous not a fortnight since, when we first issued forth from the mountains and encamped a two days' journey from Tridentum, are now as bare as the summit of the Alps, and not a human being save the followers of the mighty king can be seen for miles around. The white bones of the Romans who have been slain, indeed, whiten the ground; and troops of wolves have followed us from the mountains, as if they had been called by the voice of Attila himself to the feast he fails not to prepare for them; but nothing living and breathing is to be seen but ourselves and those fierce beasts; and the day after to-morrow we are appointed to march on and carry the same bloody scourge, the same fiery sword, farther into the empire."
Ildica looked up towards the sky. "Oh God!" she murmured, "must such things be? Hast thou no chosen instrument, as in the days of old, to check the ravager in his course, to smite the mighty murderer of nations?" and, clasping her hands together, she fixed her eyes upon the ground, falling into a long, intense fit of gloomy meditation.
"It is strange," she continued, when, rousing herself at length from her revery, she found Neva still sitting beside her in silence, and gazing anxiously upon her--"it is very strange! But who can tell the purpose of the Almighty? who can see into the wise counsels of the Omniscient? who can tell at what trifling stumbling block this great conqueror may fall down, or what small and insignificant means may, in the hand of God, bring all his sanguinary expeditions to an end?"
"I do believe," said Neva, "that when he killed my father, Bleda, I should have slain him myself if I had ever been within arm's length of him, and alone. But he is much loved by his own people, and they keep a watch for him; and now he has been kind to me, and wiped out the memory of my father's death by tenderness and affection both to my mother and myself."
"No personal revenge," said Ildica, thoughtfully, "can ever justify us in shedding a human being's blood--at least I think so, Neva; but in our own defence, or in the defence of those we love, or of our country, or our faith, surely, surely God, the God of Hosts, will hallow and sanctify the deed. I think so, Neva, I believe so, but I will meditate upon it: I will inquire from the only source where we can find sure guidance."
"Where is that?" demanded Neva.
"In the word of God," answered Ildica, abstractedly, and again she fell into a fit of meditation, from which her fair companion did not choose to rouse her. At length Ildica woke up of herself, and the sort of shadowy gloom which had hung upon her seemed in a degree banished by reflection; for when she looked up, a smile, faint and chastened indeed, but still most beautiful, played upon her lip for a moment.
"I cannot but think, dear Neva," she said, "I cannot but hope, that we have been combating imaginary adversaries. Why should Attila think of me? why should any idle beauty that you talk of make him persecute one who never injured him, or wrong a man who, like Theodore, has served him well, and whom he himself professes to love."
"You know him not, Ildica, you know him not," replied Neva; "his passions are fierce, and devouring as the flame; and we poor women, but the slaves of his pleasures, are no more in his eyes than merchandise, things to be used while they please, and to be cast away when the gloss of novelty is gone. Besides, those passions, though they once had a check, have now none. He is changed, Ildica, he is changed! Within the last two years a change has come over him which renders him no longer the same man. In former days you might rely upon his justice, if not upon his humanity; you might trust in his friendship as much as you were compelled to fear his enmity. He was sincere, though never frank; and those who knew Attila well could calculate his rising up, and his going down, and his course throughout the day, as surely as they could calculate the rising and setting of the sun himself. But he is changed, Ildica, he is changed! He has grown suspicious of his dearest friends, deceitful towards those who love him best, intemperate in all things; and while by day he revels in blood, at night he revels in wine, till drunkenness closes the day which was begun with slaughter. The only thing that ever withholds him from gratifying his desires is shame; and if we can but keep thee from his thoughts till thy lover returns, the fear of sinking lower in the esteem of his chieftains will keep him from doing thee a wrong, from violating his word."
"But why should I fear," said Ildica, "more than all the many women who, I learn, are in the camp."
"Because thou art more beautiful than them all," answered Neva, looking up in her face with a smile.
"Yes, but he let Eudochia go," replied Ildica; "he suffered her to depart without one apparent wish to stay her; and she was much more beautiful than I am--younger, lovelier in every way."
"Oh no," cried Neva, "not half so lovely! But, besides, if I must tell thee all, I heard my cousin Ellac, the great king's son, contriving with Onegisus to inflame Attila's love for thee. He has hated Theodore ever since he set foot among our tribes, and he knew that he could take no more terrible revenge upon him, that he could bring down no more certain destruction upon his head, than by raising up against him Attila as a rival in his love. I heard them lay their plot, and I know that they executed it in part. For that purpose was Theodore sent forth; for that purpose wert thou kept here; and had it not been for thy illness and for Ardaric's protection, who loves thy promised husband, thou hadst received, ere this time, terrible proofs that our fears for thee are anything but vain."
"I do remember," answered Ildica, "that on that sad night before Theodore's departure, one of the barbarian leaders, a noble-looking man, whom he called Ardaric, and in whom he afterward bade me trust implicitly, came to us, and warned him of some approaching danger--"
"It was I who warned Ardaric," interrupted Neva, "because I knew that he was sincere and true, and loved thy Theodore well. All that he knew he heard from me, or from that unhappy Moor, that deformed and mutilated negro, whom thou hast seen twice follow me into thy tent. He also watched and saw much; and, with a shrewdness all his own, perceived that Attila was not unwilling to follow where his baser son would lead him."
Ildica clasped her hands and gazed down upon the ground. "Oh, Neva!" she said at length, "you must aid and protect me; for--though I know, and feel sure, that if the hour of difficulty were to come I should find courage, on the instant, to behave as befits my race and nation--though I feel sure and confident that there is no act which I should fear to do, that justice and my honour required of me--yet, Neva, yet I would fain shrink from the trial. In the contemplation of it I am but a woman; and my very soul sinks, faint and dispirited, at the very thought of what I may be called upon to suffer and to do."
"I will aid you, I will assist you, dear Ildica," replied Bleda's daughter; "and there are many more in the camp who can assist you better, and who are willing to do so too; but I hear some one in the outer tent. It is the voice of Zercon, I think, speaking with your slaves In him, too, you may trust; for he is one who will be faithful unto death. He has known me from a child, and loves me well; and, since my father's death, there is scarce a bitter cruelty in all the long dark catalogue of inflictions which man's savage, demon-like heart has invented, that Attila has not practised upon him. He hates Attila, therefore, and he loves all who are persecuted by his persecutor."
"I have heard Theodore mention him," replied Ildica. "Did he not aid in his escape? I would fain see him again, and speak with him. All who may assist or aid me are valuable to me, dear Neva."
Neva advanced, and drew back the curtains of the inner tent for a moment, saying, "Dost thou seek me, Zercon? What wouldst thou with me? Come hither, and speak with me," she added, ere the man could reply. Returning to the side of Ildica, she seated herself near her on the cushions; while the negro, Zercon, came forward, and drew the curtains of the tent behind him.
"I came to warn you," he said, "that there are orders gone forth for the whole host to move forward by dawn of day to-morrow, upon Verona itself. Be wary, be cautious, lady," he added, fixing his eyes upon Ildica; "all has gone well as yet; but the malice of enemies has but a light slumber."
"My friend," said Ildica, in a calm but sad tone, "I have to thank thee both for thine interest in myself and for the services thou hast rendered to one dearer to me than myself. This sweet lady near me, thy dead master's child, tells me that thou wilt befriend me, and will be faithful unto me even unto death."
"That were saying little, lady," replied the negro. "Death, to me, is not a thing to be feared. I will serve thee, if I can, through severer trials than that; though I think that all the skill of Attila himself will hardly discover a new torture or indignity which the body of man can suffer--without being separated from the spirit--that he has not already practised upon this wretched frame."
"I am sorry for thee, my friend, I am sorry for thee," replied Ildica. "Thysufferings should teach us to bearourlesser evils with more patience and fortitude."
"Lady," said Zercon, "the difference between thy state and mine renders the computation of evils in our several cases very different also. Those evils, which to you are of the greatest magnitude, to me are less than the sting of a piping gnat; and it is not that we bear them differently, but that our states from infancy to this hour have rendered them really different. You have been nurtured in ease, in peace, and happiness. God made you beautiful as the day, and poured through your young veins a stream of lordly blood, drawn from a source of mighty conquerors. Philosophers and schoolmen taught you how to enjoy; and wise and good relations showed you, from your youth up, the path of virtue, and bade you prize honour as much, or more than life. Your heart and feelings, your mind and soul, even like your tender body itself, are subject to a thousand pangs, acute and dreadful, to which mine are all insensible. I, born on an arid soil, sprung from a despised race, gifted with deformity, nurtured in hardship, companion from my infancy with famine, thirst, disease, and pain, tutored but to bear, and bred up in the bitterest school of suffering--I look upon evils which to other men are great, as enjoyment--actual happiness! I may have heard the voice of philosophy, too; I may have listened to wise and learned men; but the only doctrine which has been preached to me is to suffer all things--the only lesson that I have learned through life has been endurance. The couch that feels hard to other men as a flinty rock, is a bed of down to me. Contumely and disgrace have lost their sting: my body is insensible to blows, and my heart to indignity. If I lie down to rest without the mutilating knife of tyranny lopping away my limbs, I mark the day with a white stone, and cry! 'Oh happy chance!' And though I have been too well tutored in bearing the worst ever to take refuge at the altar of death, where tyrants dare not follow, till fate shall lead me thither, yet, when the hour comes that opens that sanctuary to me, how glad will be its shelter, how heavenly its repose. Lady! oh, beautiful lady! if you can give me any service which can merit death, I will bless you as for an inestimable boon."
"Alas! my friend, I know not what may come," answered Ildica, with tears standing in her eyes. "The time may not be far distant when I, too, shall look to death as the only relief."
"I understand you, lady," answered Zercon, "and I know your danger; but it is one from which your own hand can righteously deliver you if ever it becomes imminent. Zercon--the poor, the despised Zercon--can give you a gift worth more than a talent of gold in the hour of peril. Look here!" and, approaching closer to Ildica, he drew from his bosom a small dagger, the blade of which might be somewhat more than a span in length. The haft was small, and formed of ivory; and the blade, when he took it from the sheath, though dull in colour and in polish, was evidently as sharp as a knife both at the point and edge.
"This steel," continued Zercon, "hard as a diamond and sharp as a graver's tool, would, if struck with a firm hand, pierce the strongest corslet that ever came from the armorer's anvil. In the hand of an infant, it would slay a giant; and I give it unto you, lady, against the hour when terror shall give place to resolution, and horror shall conquer fear."
He spoke like a prophet; and Ildica took the dagger, and gazed upon its blade. "Do you mean," she asked, after a long pause, "that I should use this thing against my own life?"
"No," answered Zercon, eagerly; "no! I have never used it against mine; but I have felt that there was a point at which endurance was bound to stop; and that, if the time should come when opportunity favoured the blow, I was called upon by the immutable command of nature to strike in my own defence. That opportunity has never come; for it would but little serve me, when a tyrant ordered his slaves to cut away my ears or my thumbs, to take the life of one or two of his instruments. Had he been within arm's length himself, he had died as surely as I lived."
Ildica mused with a melancholy look, still holding the dagger on her knee, while Neva, with the negro slave, gazed up in her face. The Moor seemed to read her thoughts. "Lady," he said, "I hold the same faith as you do. I have held it from my youth; but I am justified. Read in that book, if thou canst read; not in the latter part alone, but in the former also; and thou shalt find that our country's defence or our own has been held just and righteous cause for slaying the oppressor. Lady, I say no more. Conceal the weapon in your robe; and should you ever have cause to use it, let it be no hasty, ill-considered blow, aimed in the terror of the moment, but with calm deliberation, in a chosen time, with the strength of virtue and of justice, and the firmness of conscious right. I have given you what, if wisely used, is better than a jewel; but I will serve you with my heart's dearest blood to avoid the necessity of ever using it; and now farewell."
He retired as he spoke; and Ildica, taking up the dagger, held it for a moment firmly in her hand, and then placed it in her bosom. Neva gazed upon her as she did so with a look of deep emotion; and then, sinking on her knees beside the fair Roman, threw her arms around her, and hid her face upon her lap, murmuring, "Oh, may you never have to use it!"