sad sickness, had been slain by my father's commands; and I thought that, in your anger, you might have gone back to Attila and demanded blood for blood. Then I, by saving you, might have slain my own father; and I was afraid to ask my own heart if I would not have done so even if I had known how it was all to end. But you give me peace by telling me that the end would have been the same, even had you been slain."

"The end might have been worse, my sister," replied Theodore, "for Attila's wrath might have known no bounds; and besides, his anger against your father was of no new date. I heard him warn him months before, that the cup of his indignation was full, and that another drop would make it run over. That drop was certainly the death of the poor Arab, Cremera, but of that Attila was aware ere I reached his dwelling after my escape, and the vengeance he took was all unasked by me."

"Oh, thanks be to the gods!" replied Neva, gladly, "for I have felt as if a rock had fallen upon my heart and crushed it ever since that thought crossed my mind. But now, Theodore, now I am happy."

"And happy, entirely happy, should I too be, dear Neva," replied Theodore, "if I could find any way of showing to you my deep gratitude and regard. Oh, Neva, that I could be a brother to you, and protect you against danger and sorrow, and wipe every tear away from your eyes!"

"And so you shall," she answered, with a smile which had still its share of sadness; though, as soon as the bitterness of her tears was over, she had withdrawn herself gently from the young Roman's arms, and now sat apart. "And so you shall. You shall wed your fair bride, and I will come and dwell near you, and see your happiness, and find pleasure in it too, Theodore, and never be envious; and you will be kind to me; and she will too, I am sure, for your sake. All the time too, that you dwell among the Huns, I will watch for moments to help and befriend you, so that I shall have a right to share in your regard and in hers too; and then, perhaps, the end of our days may glide by in peace. Oh, how gladly will I devote a whole life to guard and care for you! Remember, too, your promise! Send to Neva when you need aid or counsel. Aid, strong and powerful, she can procure you even yet; counsel, if she cannot give it wisely, she can obtain from those who can. And now let us return, my brother. You will be glad to know that you have made poor Neva as happy as it is possible for her to be."

Thus saying, and with one of those blander and more beaming smiles which Theodore had often seen upon her face, ere yet a grief had shaded it, she turned and led the way down the hill. The world were now all abroad; but she took her way on through the midst by the young Roman's side, seemingly careless of all attempt to conceal an attachment for which she felt no shame.

CHAPTER IV.

THE FEAST OF ATTILA.

Splendour and feasting reigned in the halls of Attila. Round the immense hall of his cottage palace were spread tables on every side; and the wooden walls, quaintly carved and ornamented, were further decorated for the festal day by large green boughs torn from the fir, the laurel, and the ilex. These, gathered together in a knot with cords of woven rushes, were fixed against the panels as high up as a man could reach; and, bending over like a plume of feathers, each nodded above some trophy of barbarian arms, the shield, the bow, the spear, the corslet, which, tastefully grouped together, hung, not without poetic meaning, in the midst of the evergreens. Above all waved a thousand banners, and between the trophies enormous torches shed a light redder than that of day, but scarcely less bright than noon.

Below, six long tables were covered with an immense mass of gold and silver. Cups, vases, bekers, of every form and shape, glittered on those boards; while round about, seated at easy distances, appeared all those bold and ruthless chiefs who, under the command of a greater mind, led on the myriads of Attila to battle. There might be seen every garb, from the furs of the extreme North to the silks and linen of the far East; and there, upon the persons of those daring leaders, blazed gems and precious stones of which the voluptuous monarchs of Persia and of India might have been envious. There, too, were all faces, forms, and complexions, from the small-eyed Tartar of remote Thibet to the fair-haired Northman and the blue-eyed Goth. There were the splendid features of the Georgian and Circassian hordes; the beautiful Alani, who brought a race of loveliness from the side of the Caucasus and the shores of the Caspian, and the hard-featured Hun, or the frightful Ougour, glittering with jewels and precious stones above the unwashed filth of his native barbarism.

All was splendour and pomp: cushions, of which luxurious Rome itself might have been proud, covered with crimson and lined with down, were spread over the seats and supported the arms of the guests; and the bright gleam of the torches was flashed back on every side from some precious or some glittering object.

In the middle of the side opposite to the windows was placed a small wooden table bearing a single dish, formed of oak, and a cup of wild-bull's horn: a dagger, that served for a knife, lay beside the dish, and a drawn sword of enormous weight stretched across the table. That table, with a seat of plain, unadorned whitewood, was placed for the use of the lord of all those around; and there he sat, the plain dark Hun, covered with no jewels, robed in no splendour, clad in the simple habit of the Scythian shepherds, but with more of the monarch in his looks than gems or diadems could have given, and with the consciousness of indisputable power sitting proud upon his towering brow. What were rubies or diadems to Attila? They were parcels of the dust on which he trod!

At the tables on either hand sat Ardaric, king of the Gepidæ, Valamir, king of the Ostrogoths, Onegisus, Ellac, Edicon, Maximin, Priscus, Theodore; and at tables farther off were placed Constantius, the Latin secretary of Attila, and Vigilius, the interpreter of Maximin's embassy. Many another king and many another chief was there; and nearly five hundred guests, almost all leaders of different nations, showed, by their different features and their different garbs, the extent of Attila's dominion. In the same hall, also, were collected the ambassadors from several distant countries; and there appeared humble envoys from Valentinian, emperor of the West, as well as Maximin, whose coming from the Eastern empire we have already noticed.

Viands in profusion were placed upon the table, and delicacies of every kind gratified the palate of the most luxurious: rich wines, of many a varied sort, circled in abundance; and barbaric music, wild, but not inharmonious, floated through the hall, mingling with, but not interrupting, the conversation of the guests. A multitude of slaves served the banquet with rapidity and care; and no one had cause to say that, in the hospitality of Attila, he had been at all neglected.

At length, an elevated seat was placed in the midst of the hall; and an old but venerable man, with long white hair and snowy beard, slowly ascended and took his place thereon, while an attendant handed him up a small rude harp. In a moment, all the Huns were silent, while, with careful hand and bent down ear, he put some of the strings of his instrument into better tune. The next moment, he looked up for a single instant, with the natural glance towards the sky which almost every one uses when seeking for elevated words and thoughts; and then, running his hand over the