"Chancellor," cried Gibamund, indignantly, "cease such words, such unhallowed thoughts. You are always thrusting the dagger of such sayings into the soul of the best of men. It seems as if you tortured him intentionally, fostered this delusion."
"Silence, Gibamund!" said the King, with a deep groan. "It is no delusion. It is the most terrible truth which religion, conscience, the history of the world teach; sin will be punished. And when Verus became my Chancellor, he remained my confessor. Who but he has the right and the duty to bruise my conscience and, by warning me of the wrath of God, break the defiant pride of my spirit?"
"But you need strength. King of the Vandals," cried Hilda, her eyes sparkling wrathfully, "not contrition."
Gelimer waved his hand, and Verus began:
"It is almost crushing, blow upon blow. As soon as the fleet had left the roadstead (the last sail had barely vanished from our sight), the messages of evil came. First, from the Visigoths. Simultaneously with the news from Sardinia a long, long letter from King Theudis arrived. It contained merely the repetition in many words it came from Hispalis--that he must consider everything maturely, must test what we could do in war."
"Test from Hispalis!" muttered Gibamund.
But Verus went on: "A stranger delivered this letter at the palace soon after our fleet went out to sea. It ran as follows:--
"'To King Gelimer King Theudis.
"'I am writing this in the harbor of Carthage--'"
"What? Impossible!" cried the three listeners.