they are now vain. Yet have not I done this thing. His own hand it was that pulled the ruin on his head. He it was that cast himself upon my sword, knowing that it was drawn, and that the hand was firm that held it. Weep, if thou wilt! Go to thy chamber and weep! it is the right and the weakness of woman. Go! but entreat no longer; thou hast none now to save!"

She heard not, or heeded not his words, but still clasped his knees, and with wild looks and streaming eyes she poured forth her supplications. They were interrupted, however, by her mother's voice, who passed through the crowd like a spectre, and, with spots of blood upon her garments, stood before the king. "Ask him not to spare, my child," she said, in a voice as calm as death; "ask him not to spare! He knows no mercy! Ask him rather to give us our own doom quickly. Thy father is dead already; why should we be left alive? Or is it thy will, oh king, that we be sold as slaves? We are ready; but we would rather die if the choice were left to such as us. We are but thy brother Bleda's widow and children, and therefore have no claim upon the conqueror of the world: no, not even to choose between death and bondage. He that spared not his own brother will not spare the women and the babes."

"Woman, I did spare him!" answered Attila, solemnly: "three times did I spare, when any other man on earth, had he been monarch or slave, had died for so offending Attila. Woman, I spared him so long as his deeds affected but myself; but when he forgot all law and justice to my people, when he made ready the spear and sword to raise up contention in the land, when he slew the innocent and the noble, Attila forgot he had a brother. Neither bondage nor death await thee and thy children; thy husband's crimes have not affected thee; honour, and wealth, and peaceful possession of all that he possessed shall be thine; thy children shall be as my children, and I will defend them against their enemies. Attila sought not his brother's wealth; he sought but to do justice, and justice has been done. Take them hence, Ardaric! take them hence! she is privileged to reproach and murmur; but Attila would not that his ear should have any words that might offend him. Take them hence!"

They were removed without resistance; and, after pausing for a moment in thought, Attila demanded of those who had been present at his brother's death, "What men have ye found in the house?"

"But few," was the reply; "and they were slaves."

"Was the deformed negro, Zercon, among them?" asked the monarch again. "No," replied the Hun to whom he spoke; "we found him not."

"Let him be sought," said Attila, sternly. "He it was, he it must have been who betrayed to Bleda the young Roman's journey. Accursed be all they who supply to kings the means of gratifying bad desires! Let him be sought, and, when found, scourge him from hence to Margus, and give him up to the chief whom they call bishop of that town. I promised him to love, defend, avenge his nephew; and I would that he should know I keep my word. Onegisus, thou shalt remain here. Keep the land in peace; assuage the grief that thou findest; and see that no evil spirit rise among the tribes, to call for the hand of Attila, and divide the power of the Huns. Ardaric," he continued, turning to the King of the Gepidæ, "I could wish, too, that messengers were sent to meet the son of Paulinus as he returns from the banks of the Juvavus: let them be despatched, and tell him to return by Margus. That good priest of the new God of the Christians will see him joyfully, as this matter may have reached his ears, and he may be fearful for his nephew's safety. I would," he added, laying his hand upon the sleeve of Ardaric's tunic, "I would that friends and enemies should see and know that the word of Attila, be it for good or be it for evil, is never broken; and that any one who finds a promise of the king unfulfilled, should boldly say, Attila is dead."

Thus speaking, he turned, and leaving the hall, issued out into the portico before the house of Bleda, over which the same calm moon was still shining; while round about, in awful silence, stood the dark circle of the Hunnish troops, waiting the conclusion of the fatal deeds enacting within that low and quiet-looking abode. Attila paused for a moment, and raised his hand to his eyes as if the moonlight offended his sight. Then, striding forth into the open space, he turned and gazed for a few moments on the dwelling of Bleda. That contemplation was probably bitter, for as it ended he exclaimed, "Alas, my brother!" And that was the only regret to which, throughout his life, the lips of Attila gave voice.

There were old men who had known him as a boy, and who lived to see his death, but they declared that within that one night was comprised the whole that Attila had ever felt, either of indecision or regret.

CHAPTER II.

THE NEGRO.

The wind blew keen over the plains through which the Danube wanders, ere, in approaching Orsova, it rushes between the giant mountains, through which it seems to have rent its onward course. Barbed with sleet, that cold wind dashed in the faces of the young Roman and his followers as he led them onward towards the city of Margus, according to the directions which he had received from Attila by the way. He passed by Singidunum, and he rode through Tricornium. When last he had seen them, they were full of busy life, garrisoned with numerous troops, splendid with all the profuse luxury of old and corrupted civilization. There was now a broken wall, a pile of ashes, solitude, silence, and the whispering grass--already, like the world's forgetfulness, grown up upon the grave of things once bright. From the gate of Singidunum started away a wolf as the young Roman passed; but under the wall of Tricornium, a solitary hovel, raised from the massy ruins of a gate, and thatched with the branches and the leaves of trees, showed that either accident or old attachment had brought back some human being to dwell in that place of desolation. Theodore approached, but he found it was no other than an old half-crazy woman, who, when she saw him, shrieked forth, "The Huns! the Huns!" and fled, stumbling and tottering amid the piles of ruins.

What a strange contrast was it when, the next day, he approached the gates of Margus! Gradually the desolation ceased; the country resumed its appearance of fertility; cultivated fields and rich gardens appeared; the villa, the palace, and the church crowned the summits of the gentle hills; and everything betokened uninterrupted peace, and a place of splendour, luxury, and repose. As he entered the gates were seen the Roman soldiers, fully armed and equipped; but his Hunnish garb, and the barbarian features of those who accompanied him, seemed rather as passports to secure his entrance than impediments in his way. No opposition was offered, and the soldiers gazed upon him with a smile.

In the market-place, which was crowded with people as gay, as lively, as splendid as any city of the empire could display, a number of Huns were loitering about among the rest; and a Greek flower-girl, mistaking him for one of the barbarians, ran up, and while she fixed a garland of myrtle, mingled with some of the latest flowers of autumn, to his saddle-bow, addressed him in a few broken, mispronounced sentences in the Hunnish dialect, desiring him to buy her flowers with some of the spoils of the enemy he had slain in battle.

Theodore could have wept; but he answered the girl in Greek, telling her to place her wreaths on the tombs of those who had died in defence of their country; and he was riding on,