But Theodore was not satisfied. Though the words of the flower-girl might be idle words, yet they remained upon memory, and a cloud came over him as of new sorrows approaching. At that moment they heard voices at the door, and one of them speaking with the tones of a woman in loud entreaty. Theodore listened: "I must see him, I must speak with him," cried the voice: "it is not to sell my flowers: it is on business of importance to him himself that I seek to see him. Only tell him I am here, and see whether he will not let me speak with him."
"That is the voice of the flower-girl," cried Theodore, "who told me that Ammian had gone out to Pincianus. Some evil has happened, I fear!"
"Again!" cried Ildica, "again!" and she cast down her dark eyes towards the ground with an expression of deep despondency, as if she asked of the dust from which we rise and to which we fall--"What is this inscrutable fate, that dogs us through existence, never suffering us to know a moment's happiness, without pouring into the cup the bitter drop that turns it all to gall?"
Theodore had in the meantime advanced towards the gate, and was met midway by the flower-girl, with whom he had spoken, and who had now passed the gatekeeper and was hurrying in.
"You told me you were her brother!" she cried, as she met him--"you told me you were her brother! If so, and if you would save her from Valentinian, fly to the palace, quick! They have borne her thither. I saw her carried to the inner court in a litter, and heard her cries and entreaties when she discovered where they were taking her to. If you are her brother, hasten thither quickly with your Huns! You may save her yet; for almost all--guards, attendants, officers--have gone to the show. You may save her yet, perchance--or at least avenge her!"
[CHAPTER IX.]
THE TYRANT.
In a room in the imperial palace, lighted from above, and far removed from any of the chambers usually inhabited by the emperors, upon a luxurious couch of down, covered with crimson, and strewed with the flowers of the hyacinth, whose sweet perfume mingled with that of a thousand other flowers, gave the whole chamber an atmosphere of delicious but overpowering perfume, lay Valentinian, the weak, luxurious, vicious monarch of the West, clothed in a light and floating robe of silk, and with his odour-dropping hair bound effeminate with a fillet twined with flowers.
He seemed to listen eagerly for some sounds; and in a moment or two the trampling of feet, some sobbing cries, and a voice in the tone of expostulation, were heard. The next instant the door of the room--for it was one closed by a door furnished with locks and bolts--was thrown open, and a litter was borne in and set down in the midst of the chamber.
The slaves of Valentinian, for--though not habited in the usual garb of the imperial household--they were but the ministers of his pleasure, instantly withdrew, and, starting from the litter, a lovely girl, terror in her aspect, and her eyes dewed with tears, stood gazing wildly round the room, as if seeking some means of escape. She was yet in her early youth, and modesty and innocence were written in every line of her fair countenance. But neither modesty, nor innocence, nor youth had any effect upon the corrupt and selfish man before her, who, as soon as the slaves were gone, advanced, and taking her hand, endeavoured to sooth her, pouring into her ear all the vile but honeyed words of a consummate corrupter.