Eckhardt laid his hands on Otto's shoulders, straining his eyes in silent entreaty into those of the King.
"Do not go!" he begged.
Otto winced, but the presence of Benilo caused him to shake himself free of the Margrave's restraining hand.
"Stephania is waiting," he stammered.
"Then you will not grant my request?" Eckhardt spoke with quivering voice.
"In Rome we live,—in Rome we die!"
Taking Benilo's arm he hastened away, leaving Eckhardt to ponder over his prophetic words.
For a moment the Margrave remained, straining his gaze after Otto's retreating form.
His heart was heavy,—heavy to breaking. Dared he enter the arena against the Sorceress of Rome? He laughed aloud.
There are moments when the tragedy of our own life is almost amusing.