woman to kill a man on her account; but such little troubles were of everyday occurrence, and must not be taken too much to heart.  He had seen this Gothic damsel of whom there had been so much rumour, and, by Diana I (if the oath were not inappropriate) her face deserved all that was said of it.  His rival being out of the way, why should not Basil pluck up cheer?  Totila would not deal harshly in such a matter as this, and more likely than not he would be disposed to give the maiden to a Roman of noble race, his great desire being to win all Romans by generosity.

‘Yonder priest tells me,’ he added, ’that you were over hasty; that you struck on a mere suspicion.  And methinks he may be right.  By the Holy Cross, I could well believe this maiden a maiden in very deed.  I never looked upon a purer brow, an eye that spoke more innocently.  Hark ye, my good Basil, I am told that you have not spoken with her.  If you would fain do so before we set forth, I will be no hinderer.  Go, if you will, into yonder room’—­he pointed to a door near by—­’ and when she descends (I have but to call), you shall see her undisturbed.’

For a moment Basil sat motionless; then, without a word, he rose and went whither Venantius directed him.  But a few minutes passed before he saw Veranilda enter.  She was clad for travel, a veil over her face; this, and the shadow in which Basil stood, made her at first unaware of his presence, for Venantius had only requested her to enter this room until the carriage was ready.  Standing with bowed head, she sobbed.

‘Why do you weep?’ demanded an abrupt voice, which made her draw back trembling.

Basil moved a little towards her.

‘You weep for him?’ he added in the same pitiless tone.

‘For him, for you, and for myself, alas! alas!’

The subdued anguish of her voice did not touch Basil.  He burned with hatred of her and of the dead man.

’Shed no tears for me.  I am cured of a long folly.  And for you consolation will not be slow in coming.  Who knows but you may throw your spell upon Totila himself.’

‘You know not what you say,’ replied Veranilda; not, as when she used the words before, in accents quivering from a stricken heart, but with sorrowful dignity and self-command.  ’Is it Basil who speaks thus?  Were it only the wrong done me that I had to bear, I could keep silence, waiting until God restored your justice and your gentleness.  But, though in nothing blameworthy, I am the cause of what has come about; for had I not entered that room when I did, you would not have struck the fatal blow.  Listen then, O Basil, whilst I make known to you what happened before you came.’

She paused to control herself.