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Gissing, George, 1857-1903

"Veranilda"

There you shall rest in safety
until Basil comes.'
'He is near?'
'Already I have summoned him.'
'O kind Marcian!' uttered the low, sweet voice. 'Oh, true and brave
friend!'
In silence they walked together to the priest's house. Marcian had
now put off all irresolution. He gave orders to his guard; as soon
as the horses had sufficiently rested, they would push on for
Aletrium, and there pass the night. The start was made some two
hours after noon. Riding once more beside the carriage, Marcian felt
his heart light: passions and fears were all forgotten; the sun
flaming amid the pale blue sky, the violet shadows of the mountains,
the voice of cicadas made rapture to his senses. It was as though
Veranilda's beauty, not even yet beheld, rayed something of itself
upon all the visible world. Never had a summer's day shone so
gloriously for him; never had he so marked the hues of height and
hollow, the shape of hills, the winding of a stream. Where an ascent
made the pace slow, he alighted, walked by the vehicle, and
exchanged a few words with her who sat behind the curtain.


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