erly at the crumpled letter. "As long as
Cethegus lives, not a foot of Italian soil shall you have!"

He paced rapidly through his tent.

Another turn--with a slower step.

And a third--then he stood still, and over his mighty brow came a flash
of light.

"I have it!" he joyously cried. "Syphax," he called, "go and fetch
Procopius."

As he again paced the tent, his eyes fell upon the fallen letter of the
Merovingian.

"No," he laughed triumphantly, as he took it up from the ground. "No,
King of the Franks, you shall not win as much of Italy's holy soil as
is covered by this letter."

Procopius soon appeared. The two men sat talking earnestly through the
whole night.

Procopius was startled at the bold and daring plans of the Prefect, and
for some time refused to enter into them. But the genius of the man
held him fast, overcame every objection before it was expressed, and at
last he was so entangled in an inextricable network of argument, that
he lost all power of resistance.

The stars were pale, and the dawn illumined the east with a grey stripe
of light, when Procopius took leave of his friend.

"Cethegus," he said, rising, "I admire you. If I were not the historian
of Belisarius, I should like to be yours."

"It would be more interesting," said the Prefect quietly, "but more
difficult."

"But," continued Procopius, "I cannot help shuddering at the biting
acrimony of your spirit. It is a sign of the times in which we live. It
is like a poisonous but brilliant flower in a swamp. When I recollect
how you have ruined the Gothic King by means of his own wife----"

"I have something to tell you about that. Lately I have heard very
little from my fair ally----"

"Your ally? Your ways are----"

"Always practical."

"But not always---- But never mind. I am with you--for yet a little
while, for I wish to get my hero out of Italy as soon as possible. He
shall gather laurels in Persia instead of thorns here. But I will only
go with you as far----"

"As it suits you, of course."

"Enough! I will at once speak with Antonina. I do not doubt of success.
She is tired to death here. She burns with desire, not only to see many
an old friend in Byzantium, but also to ruin the enemies of her
husband."

"A good bad wife!"

"But Witichis? Do you think he will believe a rebellion on the part of
Belisarius possible?"

"King Witichis is a good soldier, but a poor psychologist. I know a
much cleverer man, who ye