'He did, dear lady, and when her husband was yet living. Now that he is dead—'
'Have you yet told me all?' asked Veranilda, gazing fixedly at him. 'Has he married her?'
'Not yet—I think.'
Again she bowed her head. For a moment her tears fell silently, then she looked up once more fighting against her anguish.
'It cannot be true that he would have given me to the Greeks; that he may have forgotten me, that he may have turned to another love, I can perhaps believe—for what am I that Basil should love me? But to scheme my injury, to deliver me to our enemies—Oh, you are deceived, you are deceived!'
Marcian was silent, with eyes cast down. In the branches, cicadas trilled their monotone. The viper, which had been startled away, again showed its lithe blackness among the stones behind Veranilda, and Marcian, catching sight of it, again touched her arm.
'The snake! Come away from this place.'
Veranilda drew her arm back as if his touch stung her.
'I will go,' she said. 'I must be alone—my thoughts are in such confusion I know not what I say.'
'Say but one word,' he pleaded. 'Having rescued you, I knew not how to provide for your security save under ward of the king. Totila is noble and merciful; all Italy will soon be his, and the Gothic rule be re-established. Assure me that I have done well and wisely.'