Now, at all events, he drew near to his
goal; for a ride of an hour or two he needed not to spare his beast;
sternly he called to his men to follow him close.
And all at once, as though his brain were restored by the freshness
of the morning, he grasped the thought which had eluded him.
Marcian's treachery was no new thing: twice he had been warned
against his seeming friend, by Petronilla and by Bessas, and in his
folly he had scorned the accusation which time had now so bitterly
justified. Forgotten, utterly forgotten, until this moment; yet how
blinded he must have been by his faith in Marcian's loyalty not to
have reflected upon many circumstances prompting suspicion. Marcian
had perhaps been false to him from the very day of Veranilda's
disappearance, and how far did his perfidy extend? Had he merely
known where she was concealed, or had he seen her, spoken with her,
wooed her all along? He had won her; so much was plain; and he could
scarce have done so during the brief journey to his villa. O
villainous Marcian! O fickle, wanton Veranilda!
So distinct before his fiery imagination shone the image of those
two laughing together, walking alone (as Sagaris had reported), that
all reasoning, such as a calmer man might have entertained, was
utterly forbidden.
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