Not much longer could he hope to be with her in privacy; to-morrow, or the next day at latest, emissaries of the Gothic king would come in response to his letter.

But this evening he should speak with her, gaze upon her, for a long, long hour.

She was gentle, meek, pious; in everything the exquisite antithesis of such a woman as Heliodora.

Out of very humility she allowed herself to believe that Basil had ceased to love her.

How persuade her, against the pure loyalty of her heart, that he had even plotted her surrender to an unknown fate?
What proof of that could he devise?
Did he succeed in overcoming her doubts, would he not have gone far towards winning her gratitude?
She would shed tears again; it gave him a nameless pleasure to see Veranilda weep.
Thinking thus, he strayed aimlessly and unconsciously in courts and corridors.