They lingered a little on the shadowed side, Aurelia reviving
memories of her early life, then passed again under the vaulted
arch. Basil, whose eyes scarcely moved from Veranilda's face, could
not bring himself to address her in common words, and dreaded that
she would soon vanish. So indeed it befell. With a murmur of apology
to her friend, and a timid movement of indescribable grace in
Basil's direction, she escaped, like a fugitive wild thing, into
solitude.

'Why has she gone?' exclaimed the lover, all impatience. 'I must
follow her--I cannot live away from her! Let me find her again.'

His cousin checked him.

'I have to speak to you, Basil. Come where we can be private.'

They entered the room where they had sat before, and Aurelia, taking
up the needlework left by Veranilda, showed it to her companion with
admiration.

'She is wondrous at this art. In a contest with Minerva, would she
not have fared better than Arachne? This mourning garment which I
wear is of her making, and look at the delicate work; it was wrought
four years ago, when I heard of my brother's death--wrought in a
few days. She was then but thirteen. In all that it beseems a woman
to know, she is no less skilled. Yonder lies her cithern; she learnt
to touch it, I scarce know how, out of mere desire to soothe my
melancholy, and I suspect--though she will not avow it--that the
music she plays is often her own. In sickness she has tended me with