Only now did their move in him a
natural horror when he thought of the death of Marcian, a natural
distress when he remembered his bearing to Veranilda. Only now could
he see in the light of reason all that had happened between his talk
with Sagaris at Aesernia and his riding away with Venantius from the
villa on the island. As he unfolded the story, he marvelled at
himself, and was overcome with woe.
There needed not the words of the holy abbot to show him how blindly
he had acted. He could see now that, however it might appear, the
guilt of Marcian was quite unproved. The Syrian slave might have
lied, or else have uttered a mistaken suspicion. It might be true
that Marcian had been misled by some calumniator into thinking evil
of his friend. And had he not heard the declaration of Veranilda,
that she had suffered no wrong at his hands? Basil saw the face of
his beloved. Only a man possessed by the Evil Spirit could have
answered her as he had done. Was not the fact that Marcian had
brought Veranilda to his villa in order to give her into the hands
of Totila sufficient proof that he had neither wronged her nor
meditated wrong? Ay, but Basil reminded himself that he had accused
Veranilda of amorous complicity with Marcian.
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