ay visit the church of
the blessed Petronilla, and might I not, if so I had willed, have
escaped instead of returning to the city?'

'What has this to do with the matter?' demanded Basil.

'Child! child!' cried the other, as if with boundless contempt. 'You
ask that, knowing why this Veranilda is sought by the Greeks? Were they
truly still in search of her, and were you, were I, suspected of
keeping her hidden, do you suppose we should be free, and not rather
locked as close as any prison in Rome could hold us?'

The listener stood mute. So vehement was Petronilla's speech, and so
convincing, thus delivered, seemed her argument, that Basil felt his
heart sink. Had she, then, outwitted him? Was he really playing the
part of a simpleton, at whom people laughed? He remembered the seeming
indifference of Bessas touching Veranilda at the second interview,
natural enough if the maiden had already passed into the Greek's hands.
Two days ago Marcian had told him that Petronilla must needs be aware
of Veranilda's importance, seeing that it was now common knowledge in
Roman society. But a thought flashed into his mind, and he lifted up
his head again.

'This is not true!' he exclaimed. 'If Bessas had found her, I should
have known it.'

'Pray, how? Does your foolish little lordship imagine that Bessas must
needs have told you all he has done?'

'Bessas? no,' he answered, his eyes burning with hatred as they
searched her face. 'But I have other means of learning the truth. You
try vainly to deceive me.'

'As you will, good nephew,' said the lady, as if indulgently. 'Believe
as you list, and talk on, for you entertain me.'

'One thing I have to say,' pursued Basil, 'which you will perhaps find
less amusing.' He had lost control of himself, and spoke in a low tone
of fierce menace, all his body quivering. 'If I learn that Veranilda is
in the hands of the Greeks, and that _you_ delivered her to them--by
the God above us, your life shall pay for it.'

Petronilla's face hardened till its cruel sternness outdid any
expression of hatred possible to Basil's features.

'Keep your ruffian threats for more suitable occasion, such as you will
find among your friends the Goths.' She spoke coldly and deliberately.
'If enslavement to a yellow-haired barbarian had not muddled your wits,
you would long ago have seen who it was that has played you false.'

Basil stared at her, his passion chilled with surprise and alarm.

'Played me