d two chairs, a table, and a row of keys upon the walls in the outer room, was almost all that they contained.
Upon the wooden bench in the window abovementioned, sat, day and night--her eyes fixed upon the hole in the wall, through which alone light and air could penetrate to the King's prison--a silent and thoughtful woman.
It was Rauthgundis. Her eyes never left the little chink in the wall, "For," she said to herself, "thither turn all my thoughts--there, where his eyes too are ever fixed."
Even when she spoke to her companion, Wachis, or to the gaoler, she never turned her eyes away. It seemed as if she thought that her mere look could guard the prisoner from every danger.
On the day of which we speak she had sat thus for a long time.
It was evening. Dark and threatening the massive tower rose into the sky, casting a broad shadow over the court and the left wing of the palace.
"Thanks, O Heavenly Father," murmured Rauthgundis; "even the strokes of fate h