You will understand me, and pardon me.' Basil had raised himself to a sitting position.

Supporting himself on one hand, he stared straight before him, and only spoke when a movement on the part of the servant betrayed impatience.
'This has gone on, you say, since your return to Rome?
Was it your lord's habit to do such penance on his travels ?' 'Never in this extreme, though I have always marvelled at his piety.' Again Basil kept a long silence.
'You have done well to tell me,' he said at length; then, with a wave of the hand, dismissed the Syrian.
It was nearly mid-day when Marcian returned.

At the sight of Basil his pale, weary countenance assumed a troubled smile.

He embraced his friend, kissing him affectionately on both cheeks, and sat down by him with a sigh of fatigue.
'What makes you so wan ?' asked Basil, peering into his eyes.
'I sleep ill.' 'Why so?
Is it pain or thought that keeps you wakeful ?' 'Both, perhaps,' answered Marcian.

He paused, reflected gloomily, and went on in a subdued voice.