Basil listened with bent head.

‘Maximus,’ he said presently, ’often doubted of eternal torment; and my cousin Decius has more than once confessed to me that he believes it not at all, being strengthened therein by his friend the philosopher Simplicius.  I, O Marcian, would fain think it a dream—­ yet there are evil doings in this world which make me fear that it may be true.’

‘You have seen Bessas again?’

‘Yes.  And I have seen Petronilla.’

His eyes on the listener, Basil recounted his conversation of this morning, all save that part of it which related to Marcian.  He could detect no sign of guilty uneasiness in his friend’s face, but saw that Marcian grew very thoughtful.

‘Is not this a shamelessness in falsehood which passes belief?’ were his last words.

‘If indeed it be falsehood,’ replied Marcian, meeting the other’s eyes.  ’I will confess that, this day or two, I have suspected Bessas of knowing more than he pretends.’

‘What?’ Basil exclaimed.  ’You think Veranilda is really in his power?’

Marcian answered with a return to the old irony.

’I would not venture to set bounds to the hypocrisy and the mendacity and the pertinacity of woman, but, after another conversation with Petronilla, I am shaken in my belief that she still holds her prisoners.  She may, in truth, have surrendered them.  What makes me inclined to think it, is the fierceness with which she now turns on me, accusing me of the whole plot from the first.  That, look you, would be sweet revenge to a woman defeated.  Why,’ he added, with a piercing but kindly look, ’do you hide from me that she sought to persuade you of my treachery?  Is it, O Basil, because you feared lest she spoke the truth?’

Flushing under that honest gaze, Basil sprang up and seized his friend’s hand.  Tears came into his eyes as he avowed the truth and entreated pardon.

’It was only because misery has made me all but mad.  Nay, I knew that she lied, but I could not rest till I had the assurance of it from your own lips.  You think, then, dearest Marcian, that Veranilda is lost to me for ever?  You believe it is true that she is already on the way to Constantinople?’

Marcian hoped it with all his heart, for with the disappearance of Veranilda this strange, evil jealousy of his would fade away; and he had many reasons for thinking that the loss of his Gothic love would be the best thing that could happen to Basil.  At the same time, he felt his friend’s suffering, and could not bring himself to inflict another wound.

‘If so,’ he replied, ’the Greek has less confidence in me than I thought, and I must take it as a warning.  It may be.  On the other hand, there is the possibility that Petronilla’s effrontery outwits us all.  Of course she has done her best to ruin both of us, and perhaps is still trying to persuade Bessas that you keep Veranilda in hiding, whilst I act as your accomplice.  If this be the case, we shall both of us know the smell of a prison before long, and perchance the taste of torture.  What say you?  Shall we wait for that chance, or speed away into Campania, and march with the king against Neapolis?’