He turned towards Goisvintha as the idea crossed his mind, and observed that she was still occupied in meditation.
Assured by the sight, that she had not yet observed the fugitive figure, he again directed his attention--with an excess of anxiety which he could hardly account for--in the direction where he had first beheld it, but it was no more to be seen.

It had either retired to concealment, or was now still advancing towards his tent through a clump of trees that clothed the descent of the hill.
Silently and patiently he continued to look forth over the landscape; and still no living thing was to be seen.

At length, just as he began to doubt whether his senses had not deceived him, the fugitive figure suddenly appeared from the trees, hurried with wavering gait over the patch of low, damp ground that still separated it from the young Goth, gained his tent, and then with a feeble cry fell helplessly upon the earth at his feet.
That cry, faint as it was, attracted Goisvintha's attention.

She turned in an instant, thrust Hermanric aside, and raised the stranger in her arms.

The light, slender form, the fair hand and arm hanging motionless towards the ground, the long locks of deep black hair, heavy with the moisture of the night atmosphere, betrayed the wanderer's sex and age in an instant.