'What speed you must have made! How long is it since my letter reached you ?' There passed the semblance of an embrace between them.

Basil was death pale; he spoke in hollow tones, as though his tongue were parched, and looked with bloodshot eyes from Marcian to the ecclesiastic.
'I am travel-worn.

Your hospitality must restore me.' 'That it shall,' replied Marcian.

'Or, better still,' he added, 'the hospitality of my father Gaudiosus.' He touched the priest's arm, as if affectionately.

'For here there is little solace; barely one chamber habitable.