A long deep sigh was all that Theodore would now give to the pain of parting. It was over, finished, and endured! and he stood there, calm but grave, prepared for the long cold lapse of the next seven years. Oh, sad and sorrowful is it, more melancholy, if not more painful, than any other state of human being--fertile as existence is in woes and miseries--when over the summer and the sunshiny days of early youth are brought the premature storms of manhood, the hurricane of angry passions, or the deep and settled clouds of disappointment and despair! Oh, sad and sorrowful is it, when the half-open flower of the heart is broken off by the rude footstep of adverse fate ere it has time to expand into beauty! Oh, sad and sorrowful is it, when by the rough hand of circumstance the fresh bloom is brushed from the fruit ere it be ripe!
Yet such was the fate of Theodore. Endowed with ardent feelings, strong passions, powerful energies both of mind and body, he had been called, while those feelings were in their first freshness, while those passions were in their early fervour, ere those energies had been strengthened by time or instructed by experience, to mingle with scenes, and take part in events, which few even of the mightiest and most mature minds of accomplished manhood could pass through, without bearing away the indelible stains left by feelings blighted, or the rude scars inflicted by evil passions. He had loved, and he had been beloved. He had tasted once of the nectar cup of the gods, which, when pressed by a pure lip, instils into the heart a spirit of immortality--and his lip had pressed it purely. Then had been called forth the exertion of that great attribute of manhood, the power of protecting, aiding, directing weaker beings in moments of terror and danger. Then came the mingling of that most bitter draught, when grief and indignation are all that are offered to allay the thirst of a lip burning for revenge. Then came the ignominy of flight from an enemy alike hated and despised; then the temptation conquered, to pamper vengeance by treason; and then the mighty struggle where life was played for as a dicer's stake, and every energy of heart and brain was called into fierce activity, when human blood was spilt, and mortal being extinguished by his hand, to save from death, or worse than death, those he most loved on earth. And there he now stood, that wayward, fated being, around whom within the last month so many lightnings had played, left alone amid men with whom he had no community of feeling.
Those hours of agony and excitement had indeed made him a man before his time, and well, well might they take the bloom off his young heart; yet though the siren voice of expectation might have lost part of its sweetness; though the chord which once vibrated to every joy might now possess no longer its elastic tone; though there was the gray shade of doubt mingling with every bright colour which went to paint the future, and the enchanter could charm no more; still there was within his bosom, in his love for Ildica, a sweet source of unpolluted happiness, a well of youthful feelings undefined, a fountain of bright clear waters, where wearied hope might come and drink and be refreshed. As he stood there in his loneliness, the value of that spring of secret enjoyment was displayed in all its brightness. He knew, he felt that there was his treasure; and, with that support and conscious innocence alone, he prepared to face the future, be it what it might.
The rapid process of thought had ran over in a few minutes all the varied particulars of his situation, the much of gloomy and dark, and the small but intense spot of guiding light; and, ere the few Huns who remained with him showed any disposition to move, he himself turned towards their leader, and demanded what was to ensue.
"Are you able to sit a horse?" demanded Edicon, gazing on his features, still pale with loss of blood.
"I am," replied Theodore, "if the journey be not long."
"Then we must follow the king," replied Edicon; "but I have his commands to make the stations suit your capability. There is your sword," he continued, giving him the weapon which had dropped from his hand when the blow of Ardaric had for the time disabled his right arm. "You are to be treated in no way as a bondman."
"Keep it for me," replied Theodore, putting it aside with the back of his hand; "I will never go armed into my native land with the enemies of my country."
Edicon laughed aloud. "Is there anything else," he demanded, "that your fancy would have! I am ordered to humour thee to the utmost."
"There was one faithful freedman," said Theodore, "whom I saw not with the rest who departed just now. I would gladly hear of his fate: I left him with the horses on the hill."