Pitied you rather, as one whose noble nature has fallen into trammels.

Have you not long known, O Basil, how I think of the thing called love ?' 'Because you have never known it!' exclaimed Basil.

'My love is my life.

Having lost Veranilda, I have lost myself; without her I can do nothing.

Were she dead I could fling myself into the struggle with our enemies, all the fiercer because I should care not whether I lived or died; but to lose her thus, to know that she may be in Rome, longing for me as I for her--to think that we may never hold each other's hands again--oh, it tears my heart, and makes me weak as a child.