With a half-smile upon her lip Rosamond listened while her father Cunimund briefly explained the purpose for which she had been summoned. Then, standing erect with girlish grace Rosamond pleaded, in sweet and maidenly language, not to be given up to the will of a king well known for his savage character. There was something so pathetic and touching in her appeal as she stood alone facing the rough warriors, that tears rose to the eyes of many ladies in the audience. It seemed not to be acting, but nature itself.
Tumultuous shouts from the Gepid warriors applauded Rosamond's decision, and the curtain descended upon an exciting tableau—the running to and fro of men, the buckling on of armour, and the giving of orders for the coming fray.
On turning to ascertain Idris' opinion of the first act Beatrice found him with a look of perplexity on his face.
"The earl! The earl!" he murmured. "Am I dreaming, or have I seen him before? His attitude in raising his hand to his brow recalls a gesture on the part of some one I have known in far-off times. In his voice, too, there is something familiar: it is like the echo of one heard in my childhood."
Beatrice gave a faint cry of surprise.
"Lorelie was right, then, in her conjecture," she said. "Yes: Cousin Idris, you have seen the earl before under very different circumstances from the present. Patience! you shall learn where ere long."
Quickly the curtain rose upon the second act.
The scene represented the interior of a church by night. Lamps gleaming from lofty columns shed a solemn light around.
Rosamond was present with her maidens and a few armed attendants. Their words showed that the Gepid army had suffered defeat. Cunimund himself was dead—not killed in fair and open fight, but treacherously assassinated by the bishop Paulinus, who had gone over to the Lombard side in the midst of the battle, carrying with him the head of the fallen king, and securing by that gift the favour of Alboin. The Lombards were now marching upon the Gepid capital, and Rosamond was seeking to elude capture by taking sanctuary.
Vain hope! From without came cries, the tramp of warriors, the clang of arms. Torches gleamed through the windows of the church. Rosamond's attendants tried to bar the door: their feeble efforts yielded to the superior force of the foe, and the Lombards entered the church with Alboin at their head, the rôle of that king being sustained by Ivar. The sanctuary became the scene of an unequal combat. Soon the sword glimmered in the grasp of the last defender, and the triumphant and savage Alboin seized the lovely and shrinking form of Rosamond.