"Many, I trust," answered Ardaric; "but let me tell you, for the time wears, that this fair girl, Bleda's daughter, for whose orphan state my heart has often ached, sought me out this evening, and, calling you 'her brother Theodore,' besought me to aid and to support you against your enemies. Her words were somewhat wild and rambling; but it was evident she had reasons to fear that evil threatened you."
"Upon the journey?" demanded Theodore.
"No, no!" rejoined Ardaric. "I cannot tell you my own suspicions: I must not repeat the words she spoke. We may be both mistaken; and, even were we right, our warning could be of no avail if you neglect to follow the advice I have given. Hasten to Marcian; lose not an hour upon the road; fulfil your mission quickly, and bring back a reply, or good or bad, without delay. Suffer yourself not to be entangled by any one in long discussions; but simply tell your message, receive your answer, and return within the space that you yourself have mentioned. In your absence I will protect, as far as may be, the precious pledges that you leave behind; my wife is in the camp; and though she speaks not their tongue, our hearts, oh Theodore! shall speak for us. Ardaric has some power, and it shall be used for your service. Now fare you well, for I must leave you;" and pressing Theodore once more in his arms, he turned and left the apartment.
The young Roman paused for a moment in deep thought; and then, with a heavy heart, sought those from whom he was to part so soon.
[CHAPTER XIV.]
THE MARRIAGE AND THE DEATH.
Trent was still in the possession of the Huns--though the main body of their innumerable host had passed on--when, on the third day after the departure of Theodore, two young and beautiful beings stood before the altar of the high church of that venerable city, in youth's brightest day to pass youth's brightest hour. There is certainly, in that peculiar moment of happiness in which the young heart of woman plights its full faith to the man she loves, a beautifying influence, which gives to features not otherwise remarkable a loveliness of expression that they possess not at other times. It is the beaming forth of the sweet chastened joy of fulfilled hope and gratified love: it is the picture presented by the speaking face of many of those beautiful feelings whereof external loveliness is but the type and symbol. Joy, timid modesty, pure affection, bright hope, unshaken faith, the fruition of long-nourished wishes, the fulfilment of the brightest expectation of a woman's heart--all, all are there when she kneels before the altar with the man she loves, to bind that solemn tie which nothing but the grave should break.
There knelt Eudochia by the side of Ammian; and though a slight shade of sympathizing melancholy stole across the sunshine of her face when she turned her eyes on Ildica, yet her look was as bright as hope and happiness could make it, and in the serious but still enthusiastic countenance of her young lover might be read, in its very gravity, a deeper happiness than ever his lighter smiles betrayed.
Ildica, poor Ildica, had twined the flowers in the fair bride's hair; and though a tear had fallen upon them, spangling their sweet leaves like a drop of morning dew, yet she had struggled hard to banish every selfish regret, and share to the full in the joy of those dear beings whose union, and, as she trusted, whose happiness that day was to secure.
Beside Ildica stood her mother; but oh! what a sad change had the passing of less than five years wrought in the fair form of Flavia, since first we saw her on the bright shores of the Adriatic. She had known grief, deep grief before that period; she had tasted disappointment, and undergone misfortune of many kinds: but there is a time of life when the springs of health and sources of enjoyment flow up so full and bounteously, that the most scorching heat cannot dry them up; when the earthquake itself cannot overwhelm them; when still they flow on, under the fiercest sun of summer, and are but choked up in one place to burst forth and sparkle in another. But there comes an after period, when, choked up and nearly obliterated by the sands of time, the fire of lesser misfortunes will exhaust them quite, and leave the empty fountain, the dried-up spring, without a drop of water to moisten the lip of hope. So had it been with Flavia: the misfortunes of her early years, the loss of her loved husband, the tyranny of a capricious and greedy monarch, an anxious widowhood, watching over her orphan children, had rendered the stream of life calm and dull, but had not diminished its waters nor seemed likely to shorten its course. But when a later epoch of existence had come on, and fresh sorrows, labours, anxieties, and cares had fallen fast about her, the very hopes she had nourished, and the placid joys which had rendered life verdant, faded by the wintry blast of late disappointment, like the withered leaves of winter trees above a fountain, had dropped fast and thick, and filled up the very well of life itself. Her step was feeble; her once bright eye was dim; and though the graceful line of that fair form remained, though the black hair was little more silvery than before, and the white teeth had lost none of their ivory purity, yet the pallour of her countenance, the bloodless lip, the languid, drooping eyelid, and the quick, difficult respiration, all spoke that "the body was broken by its cares and labours," and the spirit, weary of its ruined tenement, was hesitating whether it should not fly for repose.