"And to-day we find it thrown away, on the floor."
"He might have given it to us, then, after the letter was opened."
"He do a kind act? He looks as though he came straight from the nether world."
"Come, let us go."
The two lads left the hall together, apparently friends again. But for how long a time? No one had heard their whispered conversation.
Gibamund bent over his brother.
"Gelimer," he cried sorrowfully, "rouse yourself! Calm yourself! How can the words of a child--"
"Oh, it is true, all too true! It is the torture of my life. It is the worm boring into my brain. Even the children perceive it, utter it! God, the terrible God of vengeance, will visit the sins of our fathers upon us all,--on our whole nation, especially on Genseric's race. We are cursed for the guilt of our ancestors. And on the Day of Judgment, even from the depths of the sea, accusers will rise against us. When the Son of Man returns in the clouds of Heaven, when the summons is heard: 'Earth, open thy heights! mighty ocean, give up thy dead!' those mutilated forms will bear witness against us."
"No, no, thrice no!" cried Gibamund. "Verus, do not stand there with folded arms, so cold, so silent. You see how your friend, your priestly charge, is suffering. You, the shepherd of his soul, help him! Take his delusion from him. Tell him God is a God of Mercy, and every man suffers for his own sins only."
But the priest answered gloomily: "I cannot tell the King that he is wrong. You, Prince, talk like a youth, like a layman, like a German, almost like a pagan. King Gelimer, a mature man, has acquired the ecclesiastical wisdom of the Fathers of the Church and the secular knowledge of the philosophers. And he is a devout Christian. God is a terrible avenger of sin. Gelimer is right, and you are wrong."