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Updated: June 4, 2025
'It was my hope, gracious lady, that some good news awaited me on your lips. What can I say more than you have already heard from me? 'Be it so, was the careless reply. 'I have nothing to tell you except that Veranilda is not there. She pointed towards the palace. 'And this I have no doubt you know. 'Believe me, O Heliodora, he exclaimed earnestly, 'I did not. I was perhaps misled by
A holy man, newly returned from the East, had deigned to visit her only yesterday, and had given her a small phial of water from Rebekah's well; it was of priceless virtue, and one drop of it had last evening restored to health and strength a child that lay at the point of death. In the afternoon Basil was again permitted to see Veranilda, though not alone.
'Cousin, he resumed, 'I have a double thought in desiring that Venantius should come hither. It is not only that I may talk with him of the war, and learn his hopes, but that I may secure a safe retreat for Veranilda when she is my wife, and for you, dear cousin, if you desire it.
The long voyage was tedious to Basil only because Veranilda remained unseen in the cabin; the thought of bearing her off; as though she were already his own, was an exultation, a rapture. When he reflected on the indignities he had suffered in the citadel rage burned his throat, and Aurelia, all bitterness at the loss of her treasure, found words to increase this wrath. A Hun! A Scythian savage!
Several times of late he had come here, to gaze across the mountainous landscape, wondering where Veranilda might be. Turning to his companion, he laid a hand on the man's shoulder, and addressed him in a voice of much gentleness. 'Did you leave nothing behind you, Deodatus, which would make the thought of never returning to your home a sorrow? 'Nothing, my dear lord, was the reply.
Did he succeed in overcoming her doubts, would he not have gone far towards winning her gratitude? She would shed tears again; it gave him a nameless pleasure to see Veranilda weep. Thinking thus, he strayed aimlessly and unconsciously in courts and corridors. Night would come again, and could he trust himself through the long, still night after long speech with Veranilda?
It was in the South of France, in the neighbourhood of Biarritz, amid scenes such as that described in the thirty-seventh chapter of Will Warburton, or still further south, that he wrote the greater part of his last three books, the novel just mentioned, which is probably his best essay in the lighter ironical vein to which his later years inclined, Veranilda, a romance of the time of Theodoric the Goth, written in solemn fulfilment of a vow of his youth, and The Private Papers of Henry Ryecroft, which to my mind remains a legacy for Time to take account of as the faithful tribute of one of the truest artists of the generation he served.
Leander signified the Church, and what hope was there that he could gain his end against such an opponent? more formidable than Bessas, more powerful, perhaps, than Justinian. Were Veranilda imprisoned in some monastery, he might abandon hope of beholding her again on this side of the grave.
Here you are in safety, for King Totila is close at hand, and will guard you against your enemies. Veranilda pressed her hands upon her forehead, and stood mute. As his eyes shifted furtively about her, Marcian caught sight of something black and undulant stirring among stones near her feet; at once he grasped her by the arm, and drew her towards him. 'A viper! he exclaimed, pointing.
An influence in the scene before him, something he neither understood nor tried to understand, held him gazing longer than he supposed, and with a start he heard his name spoken by the beloved voice. Close to him stood Veranilda. She was cloaked and hooded, so that he could hardly see her face; but her white hands were held out for his. Heart to heart, mouth to mouth, they whispered.
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