Safe, until a messenger could reach Totila, and let him know that Veranilda was rescued.
An hour after midnight, one of the mules' traces broke.

In the silence of the stoppage, whilst the driver was mending the harness as best he could, Marcian alighted, stepped to the side of the vehicle, laid a hand on the curtain which concealed those within, and spoke in a subdued voice.
'Is all well with you, lady ?' 'As well,' came the answer, 'as it can be with one who dreads her unknown fate.' The soft accents made Marcian tremble.

He expected to hear a sweet voice, but this was sweeter far than he could have imagined: its gentleness, its sadness, utterly overcame him, so that he all but wept in his anguish of delight.
'Have no fear,' he whispered eagerly.

'It is freedom that awaits you.

I am Marcian--Marcian, the friend of Basil.' There sounded a low cry of joy; then the two names were repeated, his and that of his friend, and again Marcian quivered.
'You will be no more afraid ?' he said, as though laughingly.
'Oh no! The Blessed Virgin be thanked!' An owl's long hoot wailed through the stillness, seeming to fill with its infinite melancholy the great vault of moonlit heaven.