Hilda flew to the threshold to meet her husband, and the young couple tenderly embraced.
"Are you alone?" asked Gibamund, glancing around him. "I thought I saw your little antelope at the window."
Hilda pointed silently to the curtains at the door of the adjoining room; her husband nodded. "You will have a visitor presently," he said, raising his voice. "Thrasaric wishes to speak to you. He has all sorts of important things to say."
"He will be welcome."
"Have you finished the banner?"
"Oh, yes."
Seizing the pole, she raised the heavy standard aloft; the scarlet cloth, more than five feet long and two and a half feet wide, flowed in long heavy folds around the two slender figures. It was a beautiful, solemn sight.
Gibamund took the banner from her. "I will place it on the battlements of the loftiest tower, that it may wave a bloody welcome to our foes. Oh, thou choicest jewel, shield of the Vandal fame, Genseric's victorious standard, never shalt thou fall into the hands of the foe so long as I draw breath!" he cried enthusiastically. "I swear it by the head of the beloved wife over which thy folds are floating."
"Neither your eyes nor mine shall ever witness that. I, too, swear it," said Hilda, with deep earnestness, and a slight shiver ran through her limbs as a gust of wind blew the scarlet cloth closely around her shoulders and breast.
Gibamund kissed the fair brow and the beautiful eyes which were lifted with a radiant light to his own, and hurried out of the room with the banner. On the threshold he met Thrasaric. Hilda sat down again beside the window.