of the fathers upon
the children unto the third and fourth generation.'"

A hollow groan escaped the lips of the King. He tottered, sank upon the
couch, and covered his face with the folds of his purple mantle. Ammata
gazed at him in terror. Hilda hastily pushed him and the young Roman
away.

"Go!" she whispered. "Make friends with each other; you must stop
quarrelling. What have you boys to do with such things? Make friends, I
say." Ammata held out his right hand pleasantly; the Roman clasped it
slowly, angrily.

"Look," said Ammata, stooping, "how lucky!" He lifted from the floor
the bit of brownish-red cord, to which the little wax seal hung.

"Yes, indeed," exclaimed Pudentius, in surprise; "the same seal that
Verus would not give us for our collection of seals and impressions."

"It is very odd,--a scorpion surrounded by flames."

"Last week, when I saw the open letter lying on his table with the seal
and cord, how I begged him for it!"

"He struck my fingers when I seized it."

"I wondered why it should be so valuable."

"And to-day we find it thrown away, on the floor."

"He might have given it to us, then, after the letter was opened."

"He do a kind act? He looks as though he came straight from the nether
world."

"Come, let us go."

The two lads left the hall together, apparently friends again. But for
how long a time? No one had heard their whispered conversation.

Gibamund bent over his brother.

"Gelimer," he cried sorrowfully, "rouse yourself! Calm yourself! How
can the words of a child--"

"Oh, it is true, all too true! It is the torture of my life. It is the
worm boring into my brain. Even the children perceive it, utter it!
God, the terrible God of vengeance, will visit the sins of our fathers
upon us all,--on our whole nation, especially on Genseric's race. We
are cursed for the guilt of our ancestors. And on the Day of Judgment,
even from the depths of the sea, accusers will rise against us. When
the Son of Man returns in the clouds of Heaven, when the summons is
heard: 'Earth, open thy heights! mighty ocean, give up thy dead!' those
mutilated forms will bear witness against us."

"No, no, thrice no!" cried Gibamund. "Verus, do not stand there with
folded arms, so cold, so silent. You see how your friend, your priestly
charge, is suffering. You, the shepherd of his soul, help him! Take his
delusion from him. Tell him God is a God of Mercy, and every man
suffers for his own sins