The cause that is just."
"God crown with victory the cause that is just!" repeated the warriors, in an exulting shout, and dispersed through the streets of the camp.
The King and his brothers now dismounted from their horses, to hold another short council and to drink the wine which Hilda herself offered to them. Just at that moment, as Gelimer gave back the harp to Hilda, a strange figure pressed through the dispersing ranks; the King and the Princes gazed at it in astonishment. A tall man clad from head to ankles in a gown of camel's hair, fastened around the loins, not by a rope, but by a girdle of thick braided strands of a woman's light-brown tresses; no sandals protected the bare feet, no covering the closely shaven head. The cheeks were sunken; glowing eyes sparkled from deep sockets. Throwing himself before the King, he raised both hands imploringly.
"By Heaven! I know you, man," said Gelimer.
"Yes," cried Gibamund, "it is--"
"Thrasabad, Thrasaric's brother," added Zazo.
"The vanished nobleman whom we have long believed dead," said Hilda, with a timid glance at him, drawing nearer.
"Yes, Thrasabad," replied a hollow voice, "the miserable Thrasabad. I am a murderer, her murderer. King, judge me!"
Gelimer bent forward, took his right hand, and raised him.
"Not the Greek girl's murderer. I have heard the whole story from your brother."