"Then I will praise the folly of my youth."
"And I my paganism!" said Hilda. "They make me happy."
"The King's (or your) Sacred Wisdom makes him miserable."
"It might paralyze his strength!"
"Had he not inherited such unusual vigor from his much-despised ancestors."
"And with it the curse of their sins," said Gelimer to himself.
"We might consider," said Verus, slowly, "whether it would not be wise to cast into prison, with the other captives, this Publius Pudentius, the son of Pudentius the rebel, whom he could not take with him in his hasty flight."
"The lad? Why?" asked Hilda, reproachfully.
"With shrewd caution, your former kings reared the sons of aristocratic Romans at their courts, in the palace," Verus went on quietly, "apparently to do honor to their fathers; really as hostages for their fidelity."
"Shall Gelimer the Good visit the father's guilt on the innocent son, like your terrible God?" cried Gibamund.