It was the only work
of any value which the villa now contained, and Marcian associated
it with the memories of his earliest years. As a little child he had
often gazed at those three faces, awed by their noble gravity, and,
with a child's diffidence, he had never ventured to ask what beings
these were. He fixed his eyes upon them now, to avoid looking at
Veranilda. She, timidly glancing at him, said in her soft, low
voice, with the simplest sincerity:
'I have not yet found words in which to thank you, lord Marcian.'
'My thanks are due to you, dear lady, for gracing this poor house
with your presence.'
His tone was more suavely courteous. For an instant he looked at
her, and his lips set themselves in something meant for a smile.
'This is the end of our journey?' she asked.
'For some days--if the place does not displease you.'
'How could I be ill at ease in the house of Basil's friend, and with
the promise that Basil will soon come?'
Marcian stared at the face of Proserpine, who seemed to regard him
with solemn thoughtfulness.
'Had you any forewarning of your release from the monastery?' he
asked of a sudden.
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