He wore the
ordinary dress of a Roman noble, and had not even a dagger at his
waist. As soon as he had passed the cypresses, he saw, within the
shadow of the portico, the figure his eyes had sought; then he stood
still, and spoke with manly submissiveness.
'It is much that you suffer me to come into your presence, for of
all men, O Veranilda, I am least worthy to do so.'
'How shall I answer you?' she replied, with a sad, simple dignity.
'I know not of what unworthiness you accuse yourself. That you are
most unhappy, I know too well.'
She dared not raise her eyes to him; but in the moment of his
appearance before her, it had gladdened her to see him attired as
when she first knew him. Had he worn the soldierly garb in which he
presented himself at Marcian's villa, the revival of a dread memory
would have pierced her heart. Even as in outward man he was the
Basil she had loved, so did his voice recall that brighter day.
'Unhappy most of all,' he continued, 'in what I least dare speak of.
I have no ground to plead for pardon. What I did, and still more
what I uttered, judge it at the worst.
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