The Queen looked after her silently. Her daughter's reproofs had made a greater impression upon her than she was willing to allow.
"Ambition?" she said to herself. "No, it is not that which fills my soul. I feel that I could protect my realm and render it happy, and truly I could sacrifice my life, as well as my crown, if the well-being of my nation demanded it. Could I not?" she asked herself, doubtfully laying her hand upon her heart.
She was roused from her reverie by Cassiodorus, who entered with bent head and slow steps.
"Well," said Amalaswintha, struck by the sad expression of his face, "do you come to tell me of a misfortune?"
"No; only to ask a question."
"What question?"
"Queen," the old man solemnly commenced, "I have served you and your father faithfully for thirty years. I, a Roman, have served the barbarians, for I honoured your virtues, and believed that Italy, no longer capable of self-government, would flourish best under your rule, for your rule was just and mild. I continued to serve you, even when the blood of my best friends--and, as I believe, the most innocent blood--was shed. But they died by law, and not by treachery. I was obliged to honour your father, even where I could not praise him. But now----"
"Now? but now?" repeated the Queen proudly.
"I come now to beg from my friend, may I say my scholar----"
"You may," answered the Queen, softened.