denly darkened the brightening hopes of
the fugitive Princess.

A desolate, treeless waste extended on all sides, farther than the eye
could reach. Only reeds and tall marsh-plants stood in the damp ditches
on both sides of the Roman high-road, nodding and whispering
mysteriously in the night wind.

The road was now and then bordered by walls grown over with vines; or,
in old Roman style, by monuments, which, however, were often sadly
ruined, and the scattered stones of which, fallen across the road,
hindered the progress of the horses.

Suddenly the carriage stopped with a violent shock, and Dolios tore
open the door.

"What has happened?" cried the Princess; "have we fallen into the hands
of our enemies?"

"No," said Dolios, who, though known to her as gloomy and reserved,
seemed, during the journey, almost alarmingly silent; "a wheel is
broken. You must descend and wait until it is mended."

A violent gust of wind just then extinguished his torch, and chilly
drops of rain lashed the face of the terrified Princess.

"Descend? here? whither shall I go? There is no house near, not even a
tree which might afford a shelter from the rain and wind. I shall
remain in the carriage."

"The wheel must be taken off. That monument will afford some shelter."

Shivering with fright, Amalaswintha obeyed, and walked over the
scattered stones to the right side of the road, where, across the
ditch, she saw a tall monument rise out of the darkness.

Dolios helped her over the ditch. All at once the neighing of a horse
was heard on the road behind the carriage. Amalaswintha stopped short
in alarm.

"It is our rear-guard," said Dolios quickly. "Come!" And he led her
through the wet grass up the hill upon which stood the monument.

Arrived at the top, she seated herself upon the broad slab of a
sarcophagus. Dolios all at once disappeared into the darkness; in vain
she called him back. Presently she saw the light of his torch on the
road below; it shone redly through the mist of the marsh, and the
stormy wind rapidly bore away the sound of the hammer-strokes of the
slaves who were working at the wheel.

Thus sat the daughter of the great Theodoric, lonely and in fear. The
cold rain slowly penetrated her clothing. The wind tore at her dress
and sighed dismally through the cypresses behind the monument; ragged
clouds drove across the sky and at intervals permitted a gleam of
moonlight to penetrate their folds, which only inte