ent who
that lady was. The jest of Venantius did not touch him, for Venantius
spoke, it was evident, without a thought of Veranilda, perhaps had
forgotten her existence; not the faintest tremor of uneasiness stirred
in Basil's mind when he imagined Veranilda at his friend's house;
Marcian had discovered her, had rescued her, had brought her thither to
rest in safety till her lover could join them--brave Marcian, truest of
friends! For this had he sent the summons southward, perhaps not daring
to speak more plainly in a letter, perhaps not being yet quite sure of
success. This had he so often promised--O gallant Marcian!

Quivering with eagerness, he stood at the door of his chamber.
Footsteps sounded; there appeared a slave of the house, and behind him
that dark, handsome visage which he was expecting.

'Sagaris! My good Sagaris!' he cried joyously.

The Syrian knelt before him and kissed his hand, but uttered no word.
At sight of Basil, for which he was not at all prepared, Sagaris felt a
happy shock; he now saw his way before him, and had no more anxiety.
But, on rising from the obeisance, he let his head drop; his eyes
wandered: one would have said that he shrank from observation.

'Speak low,' said Basil, standing by the open door so as to guard
against eavesdropping. 'What message have you for me?'

Sagaris replied that he had none.

'None? Your lord charged you with nothing for me in case you should
meet me on your way?'

Again Sagaris murmured a negative, and this time with so manifest an
air of confusion that Basil stared at him, suspicious, angry.

'What do you mean? What are you keeping from me?'

The man appeared to stammer incoherencies.

'Listen,' said Basil in a low, friendly voice. 'You know very well that
the lord Marcian has no secrets from me. With me you can speak in
entire confidence. What has come to you, man? Tell me--did your lord
leave Rome before or after you?'

'At the same time.'

No sooner had this reply fallen from his lips than Sagaris seemed
stricken with alarm. He entreated pardon, declared he knew not what he
was saying, that he was dazed by the weariness of travel.

'I should have said--neither before nor after. My lord remains in the
city. I was to return with all speed.'

'He remains in the city?'

Basil reflected. It was possible that Marcian had either purposely
concealed his journey from this slave, and had suddenly found himself
able to set forth just after Saga