This morning, before sunrise, a messenger from the citadel
came and put questions to the porter.'
Basil knitted his brows.
'Venustus? It is with Venustus that Marcian lodges. Yes, Marcian is
here; I know not on what business. It would have been wiser,' he
added, 'to have said nothing, to have gone away as before. When
shall you be ready?'
'I am ready now. Why delay? What matter though we reach Surrentum by
night? The moon rises early.'
'What reply was given to the messenger from the citadel?'
'He learned, perforce, that we were preparing for a journey.'
A moment's reflection and Basil decided to risk immediate departure;
delay and uncertainty were at all times hateful to him, and at the
present juncture intolerable. At once he quitted the house (not
having ventured to speak the name of Veranilda), and in an hour's
time the covered carriage from Puteoli, and another vehicle, were in
waiting. The baggage was brought out; then, as Basil stood in the
hall, he saw Aurelia come forward, accompanied by a slight female
figure, whose grace could not be disguised by the long hooded cloak
which wrapped it from head to foot, allowing not a glimpse of face.
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