ou marry Cyprianus," she said. "He was old and--which perhaps in your
eyes was a greater disadvantage," she added bitterly--"a Roman."

"And yet I was banished to Tarentum because I refused him."

"I hoped that severity would have induced you to change your mind. For
months I kept you away from my court, from my motherly heart." A bitter
smile curled Mataswintha's lovely mouth. "In vain," continued the
Queen. "I now call you back----"

"You err. My brother Athalaric called me back!"

"I now offer you another husband. Young, handsome, a Goth of the purest
nobility, his rank is at this moment the second in the kingdom. You
know, at least you suspect, how sorely my throne, surrounded by
enemies, needs protection. He and his powerful brother promise us the
help of their whole army. Earl Arahad loves you, and you, you refuse
him! Tell me why?"

"Because I do not love him."

"A girl's stupid speech! You are a King's daughter; you ought to
sacrifice yourself to your rank, to your kingdom."

"I am a woman," answered Mataswintha, raising her sparkling eyes, "and
will sacrifice my heart to no power in heaven or on earth!"

"And thus speaks my daughter? Look at me, foolish child. I have striven
after great things, and have attained much. As long as men admire what
is great, they will name my name. I have won all that life can offer,
and yet I never----"

"Loved! I know it," sighed her daughter.

"You know it?"

"Yes; it was the curse of my childhood! I was indeed still a child when
my father died. I knew not how to express it, but even then I could
feel that his heart missed something, when, sighing deeply, he embraced
Athalaric and me, and sighed again. And I loved him all the more
tenderly because I felt that he sought love most where it was wanting.
Now indeed I know what then I could not explain to myself. You became
our father's wife, because, after Theodoric, he stood next to the
throne. Ambition, and not love, led you to his arms, and you could only
give cold pride in return for his warm affection."

Amalaswintha was startled, and stopped again in her restless walk.

"You are very bold!" she said.

"I am your daughter----"

"You speak of love so familiarly--you seem to know it at twenty better
than I at fifty. You love!" she cried suddenly, "and thence comes this
obstinacy!"

Mataswintha blushed and was silent.

"Speak," cried her angry mother; "confess it or deny it."

Mataswintha cast down her eyes