ary words, in an ordinary tone, to the
leader of the guard with which he was provided; to shout, to sing,
would have better suited his mood. Why he thrilled with such exultancy
he could not have truly said; but a weight seemed to be lifted from his
mind, and he told himself that the relief was due to knowing that he
had done with treachery, done with double-dealing, done with the shame
and the peril of such a life as he had led for years. Never could he
return to Rome save with the Gothic King; in beguiling Pelagius, he had
thrown in his lot irrevocably with the enemies of the Greeks. Now he
would play the part of an honest man; his heart throbbed at the thought.

But all this time his eyes were fixed upon the closed vehicle, behind
which he rode; and was it indeed the thought of having gained freedom
which made his heart so strangely beat? He pushed his horse as near as
possible to the carriage; he rode beside it; he stretched out his hand
and touched it. As soon as the nature of the road permitted, he gave an
order to make better speed, and his horse began to trot; he thought
less of the danger from which he was fleeing than of the place of rest
where Veranilda would step down from the carriage, and he would look
upon her face.

Under the great white moon, the valley into which they were descending
lay revealed in every feature, and the road itself was as well
illumined as by daylight. On they sped, as fast as the mules could be
driven. Near or far sounded from time to time the howl of a wolf,
answered by the fierce bark of dogs in some farm or village; the
hooting of owls broke upon the stillness, or the pipe of toads from a
marshy hollow. By the wayside would be seen moving stealthily a dark
form, which the travellers knew to be a bear, but they met no human
being, nor anywhere saw the gleam of a light in human habitation.
Coming within view of some temple of the old religion, all crossed
themselves and murmured a prayer, for this was the hour when the
dethroned demons had power over the bodies and the souls of men.

After a long descent they struck into the Via Latina, still in spite of
long neglect almost as good a road as when the legions marched over its
wheel-furrowed stones. If the information on which Leander had
calculated was correct, some three days' journey by this way would
bring them within reach of the Gothic king; but Marcian was now
debating with himself at what point he should quit the high road,