The distress which
should have smitten him to the heart restored his baser courage.
Again he spoke with the sad gravity of a sympathetic friend.
'Dearest lady, I cannot bid you be comforted, but I entreat you to
pardon me, the hapless revealer of your misfortune. Say only that
you forgive me.'
'What is there to forgive?' she answered, checking her all but
silent sobs. 'You have told what it behoved you to tell. And it may
be'--her look changed of a sudden--'that I am too hasty in
embracing sorrow. How can I believe that Basil has done this? Are
you not misled by some false suspicion? Has not some enemy slandered
him to you? What can you say to make me credit a thing so evil?'
'Alas! It were but too easy for me to lengthen a tale which all but
choked me in the telling; I could name others who know, but to you
they would be only names. That of Heliodora, had you lived in Rome,
were more than enough.'
'You say he loved her before?'
'He did, dear lady, and when her husband was yet living. Now that he
is dead--'
'Have you yet told me all?' asked Veranilda, gazing fixedly at him.
Pages:
382
383
384
385
386
387
388
389
390
391
392
393
394
395
396
397
398
399
400
401
402
403
404
405
406