I dare not. By all the saints I dare not!'
A strange quiet fell upon Basil. It seemed as if he would ask no
more questions; he half turned away, and stood musing. Indeed, it
was as though he had already heard all the slave had to tell, and so
overcome was he by the revelation that speech, even connected
thought, was at first impossible. As he recovered from the
stupefying blow, the blood began to boil in his veins. He felt as
when, in the fight of two days ago, he saw the first of his men
pierced by a javelin. Turning again to Sagaris, he plied him with
brief and rapid questions, till he had learnt every detail of
Marcian's journey from Rome to the villa. The Syrian spoke of the
veiled lady without hesitation as Veranilda, and pretended to have
known for some time that she was in a convent at Praeneste; but,
when interrogated as to her life at the villa, he affected an
affectation of doubt, murmuring that he had beheld nothing with his
own eyes, that perhaps the female slaves gossiped idly.
'What do they say?' asked Basil with unnatural self-control.
'They speak of her happy mien and gay talk, of her walking with my
lord in private.
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