He could
detect no sign of guilty uneasiness in his friend's face, but saw
that Marcian grew very thoughtful.
'Is not this a shamelessness in falsehood which passes belief?' were
his last words.
'If indeed it be falsehood,' replied Marcian, meeting the other's
eyes. 'I will confess that, this day or two, I have suspected Bessas
of knowing more than he pretends.'
'What?' Basil exclaimed. 'You think Veranilda is really in his
power?'
Marcian answered with a return to the old irony.
'I would not venture to set bounds to the hypocrisy and the
mendacity and the pertinacity of woman, but, after another
conversation with Petronilla, I am shaken in my belief that she
still holds her prisoners. She may, in truth, have surrendered them.
What makes me inclined to think it, is the fierceness with which she
now turns on _me_, accusing me of the whole plot from the first.
That, look you, would be sweet revenge to a woman defeated. Why,' he
added, with a piercing but kindly look, 'do you hide from me that
she sought to persuade you of my treachery? Is it, O Basil, because
you feared lest she spoke the truth?'
Flushing under that honest gaze, Basil sprang up and seized his
friend's hand.
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