Marcian's treachery was no new thing: twice he had been warned against his seeming friend, by Petronilla and by Bessas, and in his folly he had scorned the accusation which time had now so bitterly justified.
Forgotten, utterly forgotten, until this moment; yet how blinded he must have been by his faith in Marcian's loyalty not to have reflected upon many circumstances prompting suspicion.

Marcian had perhaps been false to him from the very day of Veranilda's disappearance, and how far did his perfidy extend?
Had he merely known where she was concealed, or had he seen her, spoken with her, wooed her all along?
He had won her; so much was plain; and he could scarce have done so during the brief journey to his villa.

O villainous Marcian! O fickle, wanton Veranilda! So distinct before his fiery imagination shone the image of those two laughing together, walking alone (as Sagaris had reported), that all reasoning, such as a calmer man might have entertained, was utterly forbidden.

Not a doubt crossed his mind.

And in his heart was no desire but of vengeance.
At length he drew near to Arpinum.