The various emotions pictured in her face became resolved into one
sinister expression, and, without removing her eyes from the Goth, she
slowly drew from the bosom-folds of her garment a long sharp knife.
The flames alternately trembled into light and subsided into darkness as
at first; Hermanric and Antonina yet continued in their old positions,
absorbed in their thoughts and in themselves; and still Goisvintha
remained unmoved as ever, knife in hand, watchful, steady, silent as
before.
But beneath the concealment of her outward tranquillity raged a
contention under which her mind darkened and her heart writhed. Twice
she returned the knife to its former hiding-place, and twice she drew it
forth again; her cheeks grew paler and paler, she pressed her clenched
hand convulsively over her bosom, and leant back languidly against the
wall behind her. No thought of Antonina had part in this great strife
of secret emotions; her wrath had too much of anguish in it to be spent
against a stranger and an enemy.
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