hem, seemed to envelop
her in their glow.

'My fairest! Let me but touch your hand. Lay it for a moment in mine--a
pledge for ever!'

'You do not fear to love me, O lord of my life?'

The whisper made him faint with joy.

'What has fear to do with love, O thou with heaven in thine eyes! what
room is there for fear in the heart where thy beauty dwells? Speak
again, speak again, my beloved, and bless me above all men that live!'

'Basil! Basil! Utter my name once more. I never knew how sweet it could
sound.'

'Nor I, how soft could be the sound of mine. Forgive me, O Veranilda,
that out of my love pain has come to you. You will not ever be sad
again? You will not think ever again of those bygone sorrows?'

She bent her head low.

'Can you believe in my truth, O Basil? Can _you_ forget?'

'All save the nobleness of her who bore you, sweet and fair one.'

'Let _that_ be ever in your thought,' said Veranilda, with a radiant
look. 'She sees me now; and my hope, your strength and goodness, bring
new joy to her in the life eternal.'

'Say the word I wait for--whisper low--the word of all words.'

'Out of my soul, O Basil, I love you!'

As the sound trembled into silence, his lips touched hers. In the
golden shadow of her hair, the lily face flushed warm; yet she did not
veil her eyes, vouchers of a life's loyalty.

When Aurelia entered the room again, she walked as though absorbed in
thought.

'Decius tells me he must soon go to Rome,' were her words, in drawing
near to the lovers.

Basil had heard of no such purpose. His kinsman, under the will of
Maximus, enjoyed a share in the annual revenue of this Surrentine
estate; moreover, he became the possessor of many books, which lay in
the Anician mansion of Rome, and it was his impatience, thought
Aurelia, to lay hands upon so precious a legacy, which might at any
time be put in danger by the events of the war, that prompted him to
set forth.

'Might he not perform the duty you have undertaken?' she added in a
lower voice, as she met Basil's look.

Veranilda did not speak, but an anxious hope dawned in her face. And
Basil saw it.

'Have you spoken of it, cousin?' he asked.

'The thought has but just come to me.'

'Decius is not in good health. Thus late in the year, to travel by
sea--Yet the weather may be fair, the sea still; and then it would be
easier for him than the journey by land.'

Basil spoke in a halting tone. He could not without a certain