If Roman ecclesiastics closed their eyes to this obstacle, the inhabitants of a little mountain town evidently need nurse no scruples in welcoming the conqueror.

With acclamations and good wishes, the crowd saw Marcian and his train set forth along the road over the hills; before the sun had shed its first beam into the westward valley, they had lost sight of Aletrium.
Not a word of the perils escaped had been allowed to reach Veranilda's ear; exhausted by her journeying and her emotions, she had slept soundly through the whole night, and this morning, when Marcian told her how near was their destination, she laughed light-heartedly as a child.

But not yet had he looked upon her countenance.

At Aletrium he might have done so had he willed, but he withheld himself as if from a dread temptation.
Never had he known such tremours of cowardliness as on this ride over the hills.

He strained his eyes in every direction, and constantly imagined an enemy where there was none.