When he had supped, he anxiously awaited the coming of Marcian.

It was two hours after nightfall before his friend appeared, having come in a litter, with torch-bearing attendants, from the Palatine, where he had supped with Bessas, the Greek commander.
The news he brought was disquieting.

Bessas had just received despatches from Cumae, which acquainted him with the story of Veranilda's disappearance, so far as it was known to Chorsoman; he wore a heavy brow about the business, swore that the Gothic damsel should be found, if it cost the skins of all who had had anything to do with her.
'I partly soothed the brute,' concluded Marcian, 'by telling him that Petronilla was within such easy reach.

Her he will summon to-morrow.' 'You promised to see her,' said Basil impatiently.
'Do I often break my promises?
I saw her before going even to my own house, with the dust of the journey still upon me.' 'Ever kind Marcian ?' 'Why so hasty to think me less than kind ?' returned the other, with his smile of sad irony.

'I saw her, though with difficulty.