t, to know when the ship will sail for Rome?'

Aurelia meant, of course, the vessel which would convey her father's
corpse, and the words cast gloom upon Basil, who had all but forgotten
the duty that lay before him. He answered that a week at least must
pass before the sailing, and, as he spoke, kept his eyes upon
Veranilda, whose countenance--or so it seemed to him--had become
graver, perhaps a little sad.

'Is it your purpose to stay long in Rome?' was Aurelia's next question,
toned with rather excessive simplicity.

'To stay long?' exclaimed Basil. 'How can you think it? Perchance I
shall not even enter the city. At Portus, I may resign my duty into
other hands, and so straightway return.'

There was a conflict in Aurelia's mind. Reverence for her father
approved the thought of his remains being transported under the
guardianship of Basil; none the less did she dread this journey, and
feel tempted to hinder it. She rose from her chair.

'Let us walk into the sunshine,' she said. 'The morning is chilly.'
And, as she passed out into the court, hand in hand with Veranilda, 'O,
the pleasure of these large spaces, this free air, after the straight
house at Cumae! Do you not breathe more lightly, sweetest? Come into
Proba's garden, and I will show you where I sat with my broidery when I
was no older than you.'

The garden was approached by a vaulted passage. A garden long
reconquered by nature; for the paths were lost in herbage, the seats
were overgrown with creeping plants, and the fountain had crumbled into
ruin. A high wall formerly enclosed it, but, in a shock of earthquake
some years ago, part of this had fallen, leaving a gap which framed a
lovely picture of the inland hills. Basil pulled away the trailing
leafage from a marble hemicycle, and, having spread his cloak upon it,
begged tremorously that Veranilda would rest.

'That wall shall be rebuilt,' said Aurelia, and, as if to inspect the
ruin, wandered away. When she was distant not many paces, Basil bent to
his seated companion, and breathed in a passionate undertone:

'My letter reached your hands, O fairest?'

'I received it--I read it.'

As she spoke, Veranilda's cheeks flushed as if in shame.

'Will you reply, were it but one word?'

Her head drooped lower. Basil seated himself at her side.

'One word, O Veranilda! I worship you--my soul longs for you--say only
that you will be mine, my beloved lady, my wife!'

Her blue eyes glistened with