Volume Iii Part 5 (1/2)

”Witichis--King Witichis--” at last stammered Mataswintha; ”it is I!

Dost thou hear me?”

But the prisoner did not move.

”I come to save thee--fly! Thou art free!”

But the prisoner dropped his head again.

”Oh, speak!--oh, only look at me!”

She now went quite into the dungeon. Gladly would she have touched his arm, and taken his hand, but she did not yet dare.

”Cethegus will kill thee!” she said; ”torture thee. He surely will if thou dost not fly!”

And now her desperation gave her courage. She drew nearer.

”But thou wilt fly! Thou shalt not die! I must save thee! I beseech thee, fly, fly! Oh, thou dost not hear me, and time presses! Sometime thou shalt know everything! but now fly--to life and liberty! I have the keys of the doors! fly, fly!” And now she grasped his arm and tried to drag him from his seat.

But she heard the rattling of chains--on his arms on his feet. He was chained to the block of stone.

”Oh! what is this?” she cried, and fell upon her knees.

”Stone and iron,” he said, in a toneless voice. ”Leave me, I am doomed.

And even if these bonds did not hold me--I would not follow thee. Back to the world? The world is one great lie. Everything is a lie.”

”Thou art right. It is better to die. Let me die with thee, but forgive me! For I, too, have lied to thee.”

”It is very possible. It does not surprise me.”

”But thou wilt forgive me before we die? I have hated thee--I have rejoiced in thy ruin--I have--oh, it is so hard to tell! I have not the strength to confess it! And yet I must have thy forgiveness. Oh, forgive me!--give me thy hand as a sign of thy pardon.”

But Witichis had sunk back into his former stupor.

”Oh, I beseech thee--forgive me, whatever I may have done!”

”Go--why should I not forgive thee? thou art like the rest--not better and not worse.”

”No, I am more wicked than all--and yet better. At least more miserable. It is true that I hated thee, but only because thou hast ever thrust me from thee. Thou wouldst not permit me to share thy life.

Forgive me!--O G.o.d! I only wish to die with thee!--give me thy hand as a sign of pardon!”

Kneeling and beseeching, she stretched out both her hands.

The King again lifted his head. The kindness of his nature awoke within him, and overpowered his own dull pain.

”Mataswintha,” he said, lifting his chained hand, ”go. I am sorry for thee. Let me die alone. Whatever thou mayst have done--go--I forgive thee.”

”O Witichis!” breathed Mataswintha, and would have clasped his hand, but she felt herself suddenly and violently dragged away.

”Incendiary! never shall he forgive thee! Come, Witichis!--_my_ Witichis!--follow me; thou art free!”