As he said this, it seemed to him that Veranilda's countenance betrayed surprise.
'I forget,' he added, his head again falling, 'that your mind has been filled with doubt of me.

How can I convince you that I speak truly?
O Veranilda!' he exclaimed passionately, 'can you look at me, can you hear me speak, and still believe that I was ever capable of betraying you ?' 'That I never believed,' she answered in a subdued voice.
'Yet I saw in your eyes some doubt, some hesitation.' 'Then it was despite myself.

The thought that you planned evil against me I have ever cast out and abhorred.

Why it was said of you, alas, I know not.' 'What proof was given ?' asked Basil, gazing fixedly at her.
'None.' Her accent did not satisfy him; it seemed to falter.
'Was nothing said,' he urged, 'to make credible so black an untruth ?' Veranilda stood motionless and silent.
'Speak, I beseech you!' cried Basil, his hands clasped upon his breast.
'Something there is which shadows your faith in my sincerity.

God knows, I have no right to question you thus--I, who let my heart be poisoned against you by a breath, a nothing.