beauty, as the guest of Cassiodorus, she had been
wedded to Eutharic, the noble Amelung, and, surrounded by all the
splendour of rank and power, had passed the proudest days of her youth.

She was overcome with an intense longing to see once more the scene of
her greatest happiness.

This feeling powerfully induced her to listen to the warning of
Cassiodorus. Still more the fear--not for her life, for she longed to
die--but that her enemies would make it impossible for her to warn the
nation and save the kingdom.

And, finally, she reflected that the way to Regeta, near Rome, where
the great National Assembly was shortly--as was usual every autumn--to
take place, led past the Lake of Bolsena; and that it was therefore
only a furthering of her plan, should she start at once in this
direction.

But, in order to make sure in all cases, so that, even if she never
arrived at the end of her journey, her warning voice might reach the
ears of the nation, she decided to write a letter to Cassiodorus--whom
she could not be sure of meeting at his villa--in which she would
entrust him with her confession, and expose to him all the plans of the
Byzantines and Theodahad.

With closed doors she wrote the painful words. Hot tears of gratitude
and remorse fell upon the parchment; she carefully sealed it, and
delivered it to the most faithful of her slaves, with the strict
injunction to carry it speedily and safely to the monastery at
Squillacium in Apulia, the monastical foundation and usual abode of
Cassiodorus.

Slowly, slowly passed the dreary hours.

She had grasped the offered hand of her friend with all her heart.
Memory and hope vied with each other in painting the island in the lake
as a much-loved asylum. There she hoped to find repose and peace.

She kept carefully within her apartment, in order to give no cause for
suspicion to her spies, or any excuse to detain her.

At last the sun had set.

With light steps, Amalaswintha, forbidding the attendance of her women,
and only hiding a few jewels and documents in the folds of her mantle,
hurried from her room into the wide colonnade which led to the garden.

She feared to meet here as usual some lurking spy, and to be stopped,
and perhaps detained. She frequently looked back, and even glanced
carefully into the niches of the statues--all was empty and quiet, no
spy followed her footsteps. Thus, unobserved, she reached the platform
of the terrace which united the pal