The more I think, the less do I understand him. I hope, I hope
with all my heart, that he was innocent, and daily I pray for his
eternal welfare.'

'That is well done, O Basil,' said the listener, for the first time
uttering his name. 'My prayers, too, he shall have. That he was so
willing to credit ill of you, I marvel; and therein he proved himself
no staunch friend. But of all else, he was guiltless.'

'So shall he ever live in my memory,' said Basil. 'Of him I always
found it easier to believe good than evil, for many were the proofs he
had given me of his affection. Had it been otherwise, I should long
before have doubted him; for, when I was seeking you in Rome, more than
once did a finger point to Marcian, as to one who knew more than he
would say. I heard the accusation with scorn, knowing well that they
who breathed it desired to confound me.'

This turned his thoughts again to the beginning of their sorrows; and
again he gently asked of Veranilda that she would relate that part of
her story which remained unknown to him. She, no longer saddened by the
past, looked frankly up into his face, and smiled as she began. Now
first did Basil hear of the anchoret Sisinnius, and how Aurelia was
beguiled into the wood, where capture awaited her. Of the embarkment at
Surrentum, Veranilda had only a confused recollection: fear and
distress re-awoke in her as she tried to describe the setting forth to
sea, and the voyage that followed. Sisinnius and his monkish follower
were in the ship, but held no speech with their captives. After a day
or two of sailing, they landed at nightfall, but in what place she had
never learnt. Still conducted by the anchorets, they were taken to pass
the night in a large house, where they had good entertainment, but saw
only the female slaves who waited upon them. The next day began a
journey by road; and thus, after more than one weary day, they arrived
at the house of religious women which was to be Veranilda's home for
nearly a twelvemonth.

'I knew not where I was, and no one would answer me that question,
though otherwise I had gentle and kindly usage. Aurelia I saw no more;
we had not even taken leave of each other, for we did not dream on
entering the house that we were to be parted. Whether she remained
under that roof I never learnt. During our journey, she suffered much,
often weeping bitterly, often all but distraught with anger and
despair. Before leaving the ship we were told t