flash so, when, like Pallas
Athene, you talk so enthusiastically of battle and heroic deeds, fear
or awe steals over me and holds me away from you. Then again, when--as
has so often happened during these last few days--I have seen your shy,
sweet happiness, your love, your devotion to your husband, then, oh,
then--pardon my presumption--I feel as near, as closely akin to you,
as--as--"

"As a sister, my Eugenia," said Hilda, clasping the charming creature
warmly to her heart. "Believe me, brave, fearless heroism does not
exclude the most loyal, the most devoted wifely love. I have often
argued that question with the most beautiful woman in the whole world."

"Who is that?" asked Eugenia, doubtfully; for how could any one be
fairer than Hilda?

"Mataswintha, granddaughter of the great Theodoric, in the laurel-grown
garden at Ravenna. She would have become my friend; but she desired to
hear only of love, nothing of heroism and duty to people and kingdom.
She knows only one right, one duty--love. This separated us sharply and
rigidly. Yet how touchingly both may be united, a beautiful old legend
celebrates. My noble friend, Teja, once sang it for my grandfather and
me to the accompaniment of his harp, in measures so sorrowful and yet
so proud--ah, as only Teja can sing. I will translate it into your
language. Come, let us mend this corner of the golden hem; meanwhile, I
will tell you."

Both took their seats by the open window again. Once more Eugenia's
glance, still in vain, often flitted over the courtyard, and while the
two were industriously embroidering, the Princess began:

"It was in ancient times: when eagles shrieked, holy waters flowed from
heavenly mountains. Far, far away from here, in the Land of Thule in
Scandinavia, a noble hero was born of the Woelsung race. His name was
Helgi, and he had no peer on earth. When, after great victories over
the Hundings, the hereditary foes of his family, he sat resting on a
rock in the fir-woods, light suddenly burst from the sky, from whose
radiance beams darted like shining lances, and from the clouds rode
the Valkyries, who--according to the beautiful religion of our
ancestors--are hero-maidens who decide the destinies of battle, and
bear the fallen heroes up to the shield-wainscoted halls of the god of
victory. They rode in helmets and breastplates; flames blazed at the
points of their spears. One of them, Sigrun, came to the lonely
warrior, clasped his hand, gree