Rather, O Basil, will I entreat you, even as I did before, to bear with the shame inseparable from my being.

If it lessen not your love, have I not cause enough for thankfulness ?' Hearing such words as these, in the sweetest, tenderest voice that ever caressed a lover's senses, Basil knew not how to word all that was in his heart.

Passion spoke for him, and not in vain; for in a few moments Veranilda's tears were dry, or lingered only to glisten amid the happy light which beamed from her eyes.

Side by side, forgetful of all but their recovered peace, they talked sweet nothings, until there sounded from far a woman's voice, calling the name of Veranilda.
'That is Athalfrida,' she said, starting up.

'I must not delay.' One whisper, one kiss, and she was gone.