"Come, my friend, rise! Must I comfort thee?"
But Hildebrand remained upon his knees, and only lifted his head so that he could look the King in the face.
"See," said the King, "I know that thou, son of Hilding, hast received from thy ancestors and thy father a deeper knowledge of the ailings of mankind and their healing than all these Grecian physicians and Lydian quack-salvers. And, more than that, thou art sincere. Therefore, I beg thee honestly to confirm me in what I feel to be true. Tell me, must I not die to-day--even before the night?" And he looked at him in a manner that would brook no deception.
But Hildebrand did not wish to deceive him; he had regained his natural composure.
"Yes, King of the Goths, heir of the Amelungs, thou must die; the hand of Death has passed across thy brow. Never again wilt thou see the sun's setting."
"It is well," said Theodoric, without blenching. "Seest thou, the Greek whom I dismissed has lied to me all the day long. And yet time is precious to me."
"Wilt thou again send for the priests?" asked Hildebrand reluctantly.
"No; they can do me no good. I need them no more."
"Sleep has strengthened thee, and lifted the veil from thy soul. Hail! Theodoric, son of Walamer! thou wilt die like a hero!"
"I know," said the King, smiling, "that it was repugnant to thy feelings to see the priests near my couch. Thou art in the right. They cannot help me."