y. At that
instant the rattling of the latch recommenced as suddenly as it had
ceased, and the air of the room recovered its former tranquillity.

'Calm yourself, beloved one,' said Hermanric gently; 'your fancy has
misled you--the door is safe.'

He parted back her dishevelled hair caressingly as he spoke. Incapable
of doubting the lightest word that fell from his lips, and hearing no
suspicious or unwonted sound in the room, she never attempted to
justify her suspicions. As she again rested her head on his shoulder,
a vague misgiving oppressed her heart, and drew from her an
irrepressible sigh; but she gave her apprehensions no expression in
words. After listening for a moment more to assure himself of the
security of the latch, the Goth resumed insensibly the contemplations
from which he had been disturbed; once more his head drooped, and again
his hands returned mechanically to their old listless position, side by
side, on the scabbard of his sword.

The faint, fickle flames still rose and fell, gleaming here and sinking
there, the latch sounded sharply in its socket, the thunder yet uttered
its surly peal, but the wind was now subsiding into fainter moans, and
the rain began to splash faintly and more faintly against the shutters
without. To the watchers in the farm-house nothing was altered to the
eye, and little to the ear. Fatal security! The last few minutes had
darkly determined their future destinies--in the loved and cherished
retreat they were now no longer alone.

They heard no stealthy footsteps pacing round their dwelling, they saw
no fierce eyes peering into the interior of the farm-house through a
chink in the shutters, they marked no dusky figure passing through the
softly and quickly opened door, and gliding into the darkest corner of
the room. Yet, now as they sat together, communing in silence with
their young, sad hearts, the threatening figure of Goisvintha stood,
shrouded in congenial darkness, under their protecting roof and in
their beloved chamber, rising still and silent almost at their very
sides.

Though the fire of her past fever had raged again through her veins,
and though startling visions of the murders at Aquileia had flashed
before her mind as the wild lightning before her eyes, she had traced
her way through the suburbs and along the high-road, and down the
little path to the farm-house gate, without straying, without
hesitating. Regardless of the darkness and the st