est on this matter.'

'I am little disposed to do so, O fiery lover!' said Marcian, with a
return of his wonted melancholy. 'For I have that to tell you which
makes the matter grave enough. We were right, you see, in our guess of
Veranilda's origin; I could wish she had been any one else. Patience,
patience! You know that I left you here to go to Neapolis. There I
received letters from Rome, one of them from Bessas himself, and, by
strange hazard, the subject of it was the daughter of Ebrimut.'

Basil made a gesture of repugnance. 'Nay, call her the daughter of
Theodenantha.'

'As you will. In any case the granddaughter of a king, and not likely
to be quite forgotten by the royal family of her own race. Another
king's grandchild, Matasuntha, lives, as you know, at Byzantium, and
enjoys no little esteem at the Emperor's court; it is rumoured, indeed,
that her husband Vitiges, having died somewhere in battle, Matasuntha
is to wed a nephew of Justinian. This lady, I am told, desires to know
the daughter of Ebri--nay, then, of Theodenantha; of whom, it seems, a
report has reached her. A command of the Emperor has come to Bessas
that the maiden Veranilda, resident at Cumae, be sent to Constantinople
with all convenient speed. And upon me, O Basil, lies the charge of
seeking her in her dwelling, and of conveying her safely to Rome, where
she will be guarded until--'

'Will be guarded!' echoed Basil fiercely. 'Nay, by the holy Peter and
Paul, that will she not! You are my friend, Marcian, and I hold you
dear, but if you attempt to obey this order--'

Hand on dagger, and eyes glaring, the young noble had sprung to his
feet. Marcian did not stir; his head was slightly bent, and a sad smile
hovered about his lips.

'O descendant of all the Anicii,' he replied, 'O son of many consuls,
remember the ancestral dignity. Time enough to threaten when you detect
me in an unfriendly act. Did I play the traitor to you at Cumae? With
the Hun this command of Justinian served you in good stead; Veranilda
would not otherwise have escaped so easily. Chorsoman, fat-witted as he
is, willingly believed that Veranilda and Aurelia, and you yourself,
were all in my net--which means the net of Bessas, whom he fears. Do
you also believe it, my good Basil?'

For answer Basil embraced his friend, and kissed him on either cheek.

'I know how this has come about,' he said; and thereupon related the
story of the visit of Olybrius to Aurelia six mon