His breath came short and thick, his face grew pale, and his glance, after resting for an instant on the woman and the girl, travelled slowly and anxiously round the tent.

In one corner of it lay a heavy battle-axe.

He looked for a moment from the weapon to Goisvintha, with a vivid expression of horror, and then moving slowly across the tent, with a firm, yet trembling grasp, he possessed himself of the arm.
As he looked up, Goisvintha approached him.

In one hand she held the bloody helmet-crest, while she pointed with the other to the crouching form of the girl.

Her lips were still parted with their unnatural smile, and she whispered softly to the Goth--'Remember your promise!--remember your kindred!--remember the massacre of Aquileia!' The young warrior made no answer.