'Do not mourn for me now,' she pursued, gently interrupting some broken
expressions of compassion which fell from the lips of the young Goth.
'If you are merciful to me, I shall forget all that I have suffered!
Though your nation is at enmity with mine, while you remain my friend, I
fear nothing! I can look on your great stature, and heavy sword, and
bright armour now without trembling! You are not like to the soldiers
of Rome;--you are taller, stronger, more gloriously arrayed! You are
like a statue I once saw by chance of a warrior of the Greeks! You have
a look of conquest and a presence of command!'
She gazed on the manly and powerful frame of the young warrior, clothed
as it was in the accoutrements of his warlike nation, with an expression
of childish interest and astonishment, asking him the appellation and
use of each part of his equipment, as it attracted her attention, and
ending her inquiries by eagerly demanding his name.
'Hermanric,' she repeated, as he answered her, pronouncing with some
difficulty the harsh Gothic syllables--'Hermanric!--that is a stern,
solemn name--a name fit for a warrior and a man! Mine sounds worthless,
after such a name as that! It is only Antonina!'
Deeply as he was interested in every word uttered by the girl, Hermanric
could no longer fail to perceive the evident traces of exhaustion that
now appeared in the slightest of her actions.
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