his unsteady grasp. His limbs
were lank and shrivelled almost to deformity, and it was with evident
difficulty that he stood upright on his feet. Every member of his body
seemed to be wasting with a gradual death, while his expression, ardent
and forbidding, was stamped with all the energy of manhood, and all the
daring of youth.

It was Ulpius! The wall was passed! The breach was made good!

After a protracted examination of Hermanric's countenance and attire,
the man, with an imperious expression, strangely at variance with his
faltering voice, thus addressed him:--

'You are a Goth?'

'I am,' rejoined the young chief; 'and you are--'

'A friend of the Goths,' was the quick answer.

An instant of silence followed. The dialogue was then again begun by
the stranger.

'What brought you alone to the base of the ramparts?' he demanded, and
an expression of ungovernable apprehension shot from his eyes as he
spoke.

'I saw the appearance of a man in the gleam of the lightning,' answered
Hermanric. 'I approached it, to assure myself that my eyes had not
deluded me, to discover--'

'There is but one man of your nation who shall discover whence I came
and what I would obtain,' interrupted the stranger fiercely; 'that man
is Alaric, your king.'

Surprise, indignation, and contempt appeared in the features of the
Goth, as he listened to such a declaration from the helpless outcast
before him. The man perceived it, and motioning him to be silent,
again addressed him.

'Listen!' cried he. 'I have that to reveal to the leader of your
forces which will stir the heart of every man in your encampment, if
you are trusted with the secret after your king has heard it from my
lips! Do you still refuse to guide me to his tent?'

Hermanric laughed scornfully.

'Look on me,' pursued the man, bending forward, and fixing his eyes
with savage earnestness upon his listener's face. 'I am alone, old,
wounded, weak,--a stranger to your nation,--a famished and a helpless
man! Should I venture into your camp--should I risk being slain for a
Roman by your comrades--should I dare the wrath of your imperious ruler
without a cause?'

He paused; and then, still keeping his eyes on the Goth, continued in
lower and more agitated tones--

'Deny me your help, I will wander through your camp till I find your
king! Imprison me, your violence will not open my lips! Slay me, you
will gain nothing by my death! But aid me, and to