"She is yours! But swear to me"--and Valerius raised himself with an effort and looked into Totila's eyes--"swear to me by the genius of Valeria that she shall not become your wife until Italy is free, and not a sod of her sacred soil is pressed by the foot of a Byzantine."
"I swear it," cried Totila, enthusiastically pressing Valerius's hand, "by the genius of Valeria I swear it!"
"Thanks, thanks, my son. Now I can die in peace--greet Valeria--in your hand is her fate--and that of Italia!"
He laid his head back upon his shield, crossed his arms over his breast, and expired.
Totila silently laid his hand upon the dead man's heart, and remained in this position for some time.
A dazzling light suddenly roused him from his sad reverie; it was the sun, whose golden disk rose gloriously over the summit of the rocks.
Totila stood up, and looked at the rising luminary. The sea glittered in the bright rays, and a golden light spread over the land.
"By the genius of Valeria!" repeated Totila in a low voice, and stretched out his hand towards the glorious sun.
Like the dead man he felt strengthened and comforted by his weighty oath; the sense of having a noble duty to perform elevated his feelings. He turned back, and ordered that the corpse should be carried to his ship, that it might be taken and deposited in the tomb of the Valerians at Neapolis.