Hearing such news, Veranilda gladdened.
'Will the holy man reveal our fate to us ?' she asked, with a child's simplicity.
'To me he has already uttered a prophetic word,' answered Aurelia, 'but I may not repeat it, no, not even to you.

Enough that it has filled my soul with wonder and joy.' 'May that joy also be mine!' said Veranilda, pressing her hands together.
This afternoon, when Basil sat with her and Aurelia, she took her cithern, and in a low voice sang songs she had heard her mother sing, in the days before shame and sorrow fell upon Theodenantha.

There were old ballads of the Goths, oftener stern than tender, but to the listeners, ignorant of her tongue, Veranilda's singing made them sweet as lover's praise.

One little song was Greek; it was all she knew of that language, and the sole inheritance that had come to her from her Greek-loving grandparent, the King Theodahad.
Auster was blowing; great lurid clouds rolled above the dark green waters, and at evening rain began to fall.

Through the next day, and the day after that, the sky still lowered; there was thunder of waves upon the shore; at times a mist swept down from the mountains, which enveloped all in gloom.