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!"
The King sprang up, roused to life by this voice.
"Rauthgundis! My wife! Thou hast never lied! Thou art true! at last I have thee again!"
And, with a gasp of joy, he stretched out his arms. His wife flew to his bosom, and tear's of delight rushed from their eyes.
But Mataswintha, who had risen, tottered to the wall. She slowly stroked her loose red hair out of her eyes and looked at the pair, who were illuminated by the bright moonlight from the chink in the wall.
"How he loves her! Yes, he will follow her! But he shall not! He shall remain and die with me!"
"Delay no longer!" said the voice of Dromon at the door.