ng by her active
compassion for the poor.

"Oh, he is good!" she cried to herself, half weeping with emotion. "I
also will be good!"

As, occupied by this thought, she entered the court of the left wing of
the palace, which was assigned to her--the King inhabited the right
wing--Aspa hurried to meet her.

"A messenger from the camp," she eagerly whispered. "He brings a secret
message from the Prefect--a letter, in Syphax's handwriting--in our
language. He waits for a reply."

"Leave me!" cried Mataswintha, frowning. "I will hear and read
nothing.--But who are these?" And she pointed to the steps leading from
the court to her apartments.

There, upon the cold stones, crouched women, children, and sick people,
clothed in rags--a group of misery.

"Beggars," said Aspa; "poor people. They have lain there the whole
morning. They will not be driven away."

"They shall not be driven away," said Mataswintha, drawing near.

"Bread, Queen! Bread, daughter of the Amelungs!" cried many voices.

"Give them gold, Aspa. All that thou hast with thee; and fetch----"

"Bread, bread. Queen--not gold! No more bread is to be had for money in
all the city."

"It is dispensed freely outside the King's magazines. I have just come
thence. Why were you not there?"

"Queen! we could not get through the crowd," said a haggard woman. "I
am aged, and my daughter here is sick, and that old man is blind. The
strong and young push us away. For three days we tried to go in vain.
We could not get through."

"Yes, and we starve," grumbled the old man. "O Theodoric! my lord and
King, where art thou? Under thy rule we had enough and to spare!
Then the poor and sick were not deprived of bread. But this unhappy
King----"

"Be silent," said Mataswintha. "The King, my husband"--and a lovely
flush rose into her cheeks--"does more than you deserve. Wait here. I
will bring you bread. Follow me, Aspa." And she hastened away.

"Whither goest thou?" asked the slave, astonished.

Mataswintha drew her veil closely over her face as she answered:

"To the King!"

When she reached the antechamber of the King's apartments, the
door-keeper, who recognised her with amazement, begged her to wait a
moment.

"An ambassador from Belisarius has been admitted to a private audience.
He has been in the room already for some time, and no doubt will soon
leave it."

Just then the door of the King's apartment was opened, and Procopius
stood hesitating upon