It
was not the first time that Marcian had thought of this. It made him
wince. But he reminded himself that herein lay another safeguard
against the happiness of Basil, and so was able to disregard the
fear.
He would let his victim repose during the heat of the day, and then,
towards evening, would summon her to another interview. Not much
longer could he hope to be with her in privacy; to-morrow, or the
next day at latest, emissaries of the Gothic king would come in
response to his letter. But this evening he should speak with her,
gaze upon her, for a long, long hour. She was gentle, meek, pious;
in everything the exquisite antithesis of such a woman as Heliodora.
Out of very humility she allowed herself to believe that Basil had
ceased to love her. How persuade her, against the pure loyalty of
her heart, that he had even plotted her surrender to an unknown
fate? What proof of that could he devise? Did he succeed in
overcoming her doubts, would he not have gone far towards winning
her gratitude?
She would shed tears again; it gave him a nameless pleasure to see
Veranilda weep.
Pages:
411
412
413
414
415
416
417
418
419
420
421
422
423
424
425
426
427
428
429
430
431
432
433
434
435