"Welcome, Belisarius," cried Gibamund, grasping his sword.
The King threw the letter on the table. His expression was grave but calm: "Had this paper been in my hand only a day, only a few hours earlier, all would have been different. I thank you, Verus, that you obtained the news today, at least."
An almost imperceptible smile--did it mean pride? or was it flattered vanity?--flickered over the priest's pallid, bloodless lips. "I have old connections in Constantinople; since this danger threatened I have eagerly fostered them."
"Well, then," said the King, "let them come! The decision, the certainty, exerts a soothing, beneficial influence after the long period of suspense. Now there will be work, military work, which always does me good; it prevents pondering, thinking."
"Yes, let them come," cried Gibamund; "they break into our country like robbers, and we will resist them as if they were robbers. What right has the Emperor to interfere with the succession to the Vandal throne? Right is on our side; God and victory will also be with us."
"Yes, right is on our side," said the King. "That is my best, my sole support. God defends the right. He punishes wrong; so He will. He must, be with us."
This praise of justice, and this joyous confidence in their own cause seemed by no means to please the priest. With a gloomy frown on his brow he raised his sharp, penetrating voice, fixing his eyes threateningly on Gelimer,--
"Justice? Who is just in the eyes of God? The Lord finds sin where we see none. And He punishes not only present--"
At these words the King relapsed into his former mood; his eyes lost the bright sparkle of resolution. But Verus could not finish. A loud noise of voices in angry dispute rose in the corridor leading to the hall.