Now again had sluggishness taken possession of him, and with it came those promptings of the flesh which, but a few months ago, he easily subdued, but which the lapse of time had once more made perilous.  To any who should have ventured to taunt him with forgetfulness of Veranilda, he would have fiercely given the lie; and with reason, for Veranilda’s image was as vivid to him as on the day when he lost her, and she alone of women had the power to excite his deepest and tenderest emotions.  Nevertheless, he had more than once of late visited Heliodora, and though these visits were in appearance only such as he might have paid to any lady of his acquaintance, Basil knew very well whither they tended.  As yet Heliodora affected a total forgetfulness of the past; she talked of Veranilda, and confessed that her efforts to make any discovery regarding the captive were still fruitless, though she by no means gave up hope; therewithal, she treated Basil only half seriously, with good-naturedly mocking smiles, as a mere boy, a disdain to her mature womanhood.  Of this was he thinking as he tossed on the couch in the library; he had thought of it too much since leaving Heliodora yesterday afternoon.  It began to nettle him that his grief should be for her merely an amusement.  Never having seen the Gothic maiden, whose beauty outshone hers as sunrise outdoes the lighting of a candle, this wanton Greek was capable of despising him in good earnest, and Basil had never been of those who sit easy under scorn.  He felt something chafe and grow hot within him, and recalled the days when he, and not Heliodora, had indulged contempt—­to his mind a much more natural posture of affairs, The animal that is in every man had begun to stir; it urged him to master and crush and tame this woman, whom, indeed, he held rather in hate than in any semblance of love.  Her beauty, her sensuality, had power over him still; he resented such danger of subjection, and encouraged himself in a barbarism of mood, which permitted him to think that even in yielding he might find the way of his revenge.

There had been a long silence since his reply to the hint offered by Decius.  The student spoke again.

‘Basil, leave Rome.’

‘It is forbidden,’ answered the other dully, his face averted.

’Many things are forbidden which none the less are done.  Did you learn that Veranilda awaited you at Asculum, how long would it be before you set forth?’

‘Not one hour, good Decius.’

’Even. so.  You would pass the gates disguised as a peasant or as a woman—­no matter how.  Will you do less to save all that makes life dear to an honourable man?  Be gone, be gone, I entreat you.’

‘Whither?’