t 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?'

Though he smiled, there was no mistaking Marcian's earnestness. For the
moment he had shaken off his visions of Tartarus, and was his saner
self once more.

'If I knew that she has gone!' cried Basil wretchedly. 'If I knew!'

'So you take your chance?'

'Listen! You speak of prison, of torture. Marcian, can you not help, me
to capture that woman, and to get from her the truth?'

Basil's face grew terrible as he spoke. He quivere