Though peril of the gravest lay in every word he uttered, not this made him tremble, but the fear lest he had miscalculated, counting too securely on his power to excite this woman's imagination.

For as yet her eye did not kindle.

It might be that she distrusted herself, having learnt already that Bessas was no easy conquest.

Or it might be that he himself was the subject of her distrust.
'What is it to _you_ ?' she suddenly asked, with a fierce gaze.

'Can the Goth bring Veranilda back to Italy ?' 'I do not believe that she has gone.' Marcian had knowledge enough of women, and of Heliodora, to harp on a personal desire rather than hint at high motive.