A frenzy urged him to resist, but madness yielded to cunning, and he released her.
'Of course Basil has been here,' she was saying.
'Never.' 'Never?
Oh, the joy of showing him this when he comes! Lord Marcian, you do not think it will be long ?' Her eyes seemed as though they would read in the depth of his; again the look of troubled wonder rose to her countenance.
'It will not be more than a few days ?' she added, in a timid undertone, scarce audible upon the water's deeper note.
'I fear it may be longer,' replied Marcian.
He heard his own accents as those of another man.

He, his very self, willed the utterance of certain words, kind, hopeful, honest; but something else within him commanded his tongue, and, ere he knew it, he had added: 'You have never thought that Basil might forget you ?' Veranilda quivered as though she had been struck.
'Why do you again ask me that question ?' she said gently, but no longer timidly.

'Why do you look at me so?
Surely,' her voice sank, 'you could not have let me feel so happy if Basil were dead ?' 'He lives.' 'Then why do you look so strangely at me?
Ah, he is a prisoner ?' 'Not so.

No man's liberty is less in danger.' She clasped her hands before her.

'You make me suffer.