One
moment he felt himself capable of acting nobly, even as he had
resolved when at mass in the little mountain church; his bosom
glowed with the defiance of every risk; he would guard Veranilda
secretly until he could lay her hand in that of Basil. The next, he
saw only danger, impossibility, in such a purpose, and was anxious
to deliver the beautiful maiden to the king of her own race as soon
as might be--lest worse befell. Thus did he strive with himself,
thus was he racked and rent under the glowing moon.
At dawn he slept. When he rose the horsemen had long since set forth
on their journey home. He inquired which road they had taken. But to
this no one had paid heed; he could only learn that they had crossed
the river by the westward bridge, and so perhaps had gone back by
way of Aletrium, instead of descending the valley to the Latin Way.
Even yet Marcian did not feel quite safe from his Greek pursuers. He
feared a meeting between them and the Praenestines.
Having bathed (a luxury after waterless Rome), and eaten a morsel of
bread with a draught of his own wine, he called his housekeeper, and
bade her make known to the lady, his guest, that he begged
permission to wait upon her.
Pages:
363
364
365
366
367
368
369
370
371
372
373
374
375
376
377
378
379
380
381
382
383
384
385
386
387