This turned his thoughts again to the beginning of their sorrows; and again he gently asked of Veranilda that she would relate that part of her story which remained unknown to him.  She, no longer saddened by the past, looked frankly up into his face, and smiled as she began.  Now first did Basil hear of the anchoret Sisinnius, and how Aurelia was beguiled into the wood, where capture awaited her.  Of the embarkment at Surrentum, Veranilda had only a confused recollection:  fear and distress re-awoke in her as she tried to describe the setting forth to sea, and the voyage that followed.  Sisinnius and his monkish follower were in the ship, but held no speech with their captives.  After a day or two of sailing, they landed at nightfall, but in what place she had never learnt.  Still conducted by the anchorets, they were taken to pass the night in a large house, where they had good entertainment, but saw only the female slaves who waited upon them.  The next day began a journey by road; and thus, after more than one weary day, they arrived at the house of religious women which was to be Veranilda’s home for nearly a twelvemonth.

’I knew not where I was, and no one would answer me that question, though otherwise I had gentle and kindly usage.  Aurelia I saw no more; we had not even taken leave of each other, for we did not dream on entering the house that we were to be parted.  Whether she remained under that roof I never learnt.  During our journey, she suffered much, often weeping bitterly, often all but distraught with anger and despair.  Before leaving the ship we were told that, if either of us tried to escape, we should be fettered, and only the fear of that indignity kept Aurelia still.  Her face, as I remember its last look, was dreadful, so white and anguished.  I have often feared that, if she were long kept prisoner, she would lose her senses.’

Basil having heard the story to an end without speaking, made known the thoughts it stirred in him.  They talked of Petronilla and of the deacon Leander, and sought explanations of Veranilda’s release.  And, as thus they conversed, they forgot all that had come between them; their constraint insensibly passed away; till at length Basil was sitting by Veranilda’s side, and holding her hand, and their eyes met in a long gaze of love and trust and hope.

‘Can you forgive?’ murmured Basil, upon whom, in the fulness of his joy, came the memory of what he deemed his least pardonable sin.

‘How can I talk of forgiveness,’ she returned, ’when not yours was the blame, but mine?  For I believed—­or all but believed—­that you had forgotten me.’

’Beloved, I was guilty of worse than faithlessness.  I dread to think, and still more to speak, of it; yet if I am silent, I spare myself; and seem, perhaps, to make light of baseness for which there are no words of fitting scorn.  That too, be assured, O Veranilda, I confessed to the holy Benedict.’