"No, by my sword! We must have him alive." He vanished down the corridor.
"Oh, Verus!" Gelimer passionately exclaimed, "you faithful friend! Shall I owe you the rescue of my people, as well as the deliverance of my own poor life from the most horrible death?" He eagerly clasped his hand.
The priest withdrew it.
"Thank God for your own and your people's destiny, not me. I am only the tool of His will, from the hour I assumed the garb of this priesthood. But listen: to you alone dare I confide the whole truth; yonder blockhead would ruin everything by his blind impetuosity. Your life is threatened. That does not alarm the hero! Yet you must preserve it for your people. Fall if fall you must, in battle, under the sword of Belisarius" (Gelimer's eyes sparkled, and a noble enthusiasm transfigured his face), "but do not perish miserably by murder."
"Murder? Who would--?"
"The King. No, do not doubt. Pudentius told me. The nephews overruled his opposition. They know that you will baffle their plans so long as you live. You must never be permitted to become King of the Vandals."
Here the black eyes shot a swift glance, then fell again.
"We shall see!" cried Gelimer, wrathfully. "I will be King, and woe--"
Here he stopped suddenly. His breath came and went quickly. After a pause, repressing his vehemence, he asked humbly,--
"Is this ambition a sin, my brother?"