"Thy message concerns the King? Why
dost thou hesitate? Speak!"

The woman pointed at Aspa.

"She is silent and faithful."

"She is a woman."

At a sign from the Queen, the slave reluctantly left the room.

"Daughter of the Amelungs, I know that nothing but the strait in which
the kingdom stood, and not love, led thee to Witichis.--(How lovely she
is, although pale as death!)--Yet thou art the Queen of the Goths--his
Queen--and even if thou dost not love him, his kingdom, his triumph,
must be all in all to thee."

Mataswintha grasped the gilded arm of her couch.

"So thinks every beggar in the nation!" she sighed.

"To the King I cannot speak, for special reasons," continued the woman.
"Therefore I speak to thee whose province it is to succour and warn him
against treason. Listen to me." And she drew nearer, looking keenly at
the Queen.--"How strange," she said to herself; "what similarity of
form!"

"Treason! still more treason?"

"So thou too suspectest treason?"

"It is no matter. From whom? From Byzantium? From without? From the
Prefect?"

"No," the woman answered, shaking her head. "Not from without; from
within. Not from a man; from a woman."

"What dost thou say?" asked Mataswintha, turning still paler. "How can
a woman----"

"Injure the hero? In the devilish wickedness of her heart. Not openly,
but by cunning and treachery; perhaps with secret poison, as has
already happened; perhaps with secret fire."

"Hold!"

Mataswintha, who had just risen, staggered back to the table and leaned
upon it. But the woman followed her and whispered softly:

"I must tell thee of an incredible, shameful act! The King and the
people believe that the lightning set the magazines on fire, but I know
better. And _he_ shall know it. He shall be warned by _thee_, so that
he may discover the rank offender. That night I saw a torch-light
passing through the galleries of the magazines, and it was carried by a
woman. _Her_ hand cast it amongst the stores! Thou shudderest? Yes, a
_woman_. Wherefore wilt thou go? Hear one other word, and I will leave
thee. The name? I do not know it. But the woman fell just at my feet,
and, recovering, escaped; but as she went, she lost a sign and means of
recognition--this snake of emeralds."

And the woman held up a bracelet in the light of the lamp.

Mataswintha, tortured to death, started upright. She held both arms
over her face. The hasty movement disturbed her kerchief. Her re