‘I surprise you,’ cried out the genial voice with a cheery laugh.  You had five hours start of me.  Pray, dear lord, when did you get here?’

Basil could make no reply, and the other, closely observing his strange countenance, went on to explain that, scarcely started from Aesernia on his way to the king, Marcian’s messenger had met with Totila himself, who was nearer than had been thought.  After reading the letter, Totila had come on rapidly to Aesernia, and had forthwith despatched Venantius to the villa by Arpinum.

‘You guess my mission, lord Basil,’ he pursued, with bluff good-humour.  ’Dullard that I was, the talk of a fair lady travelling in Marcian’s charge never brought to my mind that old story of Surrentum.  Here is our royal Totila all eagerness to see this maiden—­if maiden still she be.  What say you on that point, dear lord?  Nay, look not so fiercely at me.  I am not here to call any one to account, but only to see that the Gothic beauty comes safe to Aesernia as soon as may be.’

‘You will find her within,’ muttered Basil.

’And Marcian?  I might have thought I came inopportunely to this dwelling, but that he himself wrote to the king that the lady was here.’

‘You are assured of that?’ Basil asked, under his breath.

’I have Totila’s word for it, at all events.  But you seem indisposed for talk, lord Basil, and my business is with Marcian.  The slaves all look scared, and can’t or won’t answer a plain question.  I have no time to waste.  Tell me, I pray you, where the lord of the villa may be found.’

Basil summoned one of his followers.

‘Conduct the lord Venantius to Marcian’s chamber.’

It was done.  Basil remained standing in the same spot, his eyes cast down, till a quick step announced the captain’s return.  Venantius came close up to him, and spoke in a grave but not unfriendly voice: 

’The priest has told me what he saw, but will not say more.  I ask you nothing, lord Basil.  You will make your defence to the king.’

‘Be it so.’

‘My men must rest for an hour,’ continued Venantius.  ’We shall ride this afternoon as far as Aquinum, and there pass the night.  I go now to speak with Veranilda.’

‘As you will.’

Basil withdrew into the portico, sat down, and covered his face with his hands.  Fever consumed him, and a dreadful melancholy weighed upon his spirit.  At a respectful distance from him, his followers had assembled, ready for departure.  The soldiers who had come with Venantius, a score in number, were eating and drinking outside the gates.  Within, all was quiet.  Half an hour elapsed, and Venantius again came forward.  Seeing Basil in the shadow of the portico, he went and sat beside him, and began to speak with rough but well-meaning solace.  Why this heaviness?  If he surmised aright, Basil had but avenged himself as any man would have done.  For his own part, he had never thought enough of any