overnor
entered, a sagacious, good-humoured-looking man in middle life.

"Who was with thee just now?" he asked. "Methought I heard voices."

"Merely the Muse," explained Nonnus, "with whom I am wont to hold nocturnal
communings."

"Indeed!" replied the Governor. "Then the Muse has done well to take
herself off, and will do even better not to return. Bishops must have no
flirtations with Muses, heavenly or earthly--not that I am now altogether
certain that thou _wilt_ be a bishop."

"How so?" asked Nonnus, not without a feeling of relief.

"Imagine, my dear friend," returned the Governor, "who should turn up this
evening but that sordid anchorite Pachymius, to whom the see was promised
indeed, but who was reported to have been devoured by vermin in the desert.
The rumour seemed so highly plausible that it must be feared that
sufficient pains were not taken to verify it--cannot have been, in fact;
for, as I said, here he comes, having been brought, as he affirms, through
the air by an angel. Little would it have signified if he had come by
himself, but he is accompanied by three hundred monks carrying cudgels, who
threaten an insurrection if he is not consecrated on the spot. My friend
the Archbishop and I are at our wits' end: we have set our hearts on having
a gentleman over the diocese, but we cannot afford to have tumults reported
at Constantinople. At last, mainly through the mediation of a sable
personage whom no one seems to know, but who approves himself most
intelligent and obliging, the matter is put off till to-morrow, when them
and Pachymius are to compete for the bishopric in public on conditions not
yet settled, but which our swarthy friend undertakes to arrange to every
one's satisfaction. So keep up a good heart, and don't run away in any
case. I know thou art timid, but remember that there is no safety for thee
but in victory. If thou yieldest thou wilt be beheaded by me, and if thou
art defeated thou wilt certainly be burned by Pachymius."

With this incentive to intrepidity the Governor withdrew, leaving the poor
poet in a pitiable state between remorse and terror. One thing alone
somewhat comforted him! the mitres had vanished, and the gifts of the Gods
lay on the table in their place, whence he concluded that a friendly power
might yet be watching over him.

III

Next morning all Panopolis was in an uproar. It was generally known that
the pretensions of the candidates for the episcopat