The hand that held the light trembled, so that the lantern containing it vibrated continuously in his unsteady grasp.

His limbs were lank and shrivelled almost to deformity, and it was with evident difficulty that he stood upright on his feet.

Every member of his body seemed to be wasting with a gradual death, while his expression, ardent and forbidding, was stamped with all the energy of manhood, and all the daring of youth.
It was Ulpius! The wall was passed! The breach was made good! After a protracted examination of Hermanric's countenance and attire, the man, with an imperious expression, strangely at variance with his faltering voice, thus addressed him:-- 'You are a Goth ?' 'I am,' rejoined the young chief; 'and you are--' 'A friend of the Goths,' was the quick answer.
An instant of silence followed.

The dialogue was then again begun by the stranger.
'What brought you alone to the base of the ramparts ?' he demanded, and an expression of ungovernable apprehension shot from his eyes as he spoke.
'I saw the appearance of a man in the gleam of the lightning,' answered Hermanric.

'I approached it, to assure myself that my eyes had not deluded me, to discover--' 'There is but one man of your nation who shall discover whence I came and what I would obtain,' interrupted the stranger fiercely; 'that man is Alaric, your king.' Surprise, indignation, and contempt appeared in the features of the Goth, as he listened to such a declaration from the helpless outcast before him.