against her. It was believed that
she had driven forth with insults the most noble Petronilla, that
exemplar of charity and of a saintly life. Worse still was the rumour,
now generally believed, that the Senator's daughter had obtained her
inheritance by wicked hypocrisy, by a false show of return to the true
faith. Being herself so evil, it was not to be wondered that she
corrupted those who fell under her influence; the young lord Basil, for
instance, who, incredible as it sounded, was said to be on the point of
espousing a Gothic damsel, a mysterious attendant upon Aurelia, of whom
strange stories were rife. Talk of these things made no little
agitation in the town when ceremonies were over and the coffin had been
embarked. The generality threw up their hands, and cried shame, and
asked why the bishop did not take some action in so grave a scandal.
But here and there folk whispered together in a different tone, with
winkings and lips compressed, and nods significant of menace. Patience!
Wait a day or two, and they would see what they would see. Heaven was
not regardless of iniquity.

Scarce had the ship weighed anchor, to be wafted across the bay by a
gentle wind, when Petronilla started on her land journey for Rome. The
great chariot, the baggage, the servants riding, made fresh commotion
in Surrentum; many accompanied the great lady along the winding road
until they were weary and their curiosity satisfied. To this obsequious
escort Petronilla uttered certain words which before evening were
repeated throughout the town. 'Let us forgive our enemies,' she said,
with that air of hers, at once so grand and so devout--'let us forgive
our enemies, but let us omit no means, however rigorous, of saving
their souls'; and of those who reported the saying, some winked and
nodded more significantly than ever.

Just before sunset on this same day there was trampling of hoofs along
the road ascending to the villa, as two horsemen, with a dozen
followers, some on horses, some on mules, rode up. Summoned to the
atrium, Basil greeted the return of Marcian, and looked with curiosity
at the man standing beside him, who could be no other than Venantius. A
tall and comely man, wearing a casque and a light breastplate, his
years not more than thirty, rather slim, yet evidently muscular and
vigorous, he had a look of good-humoured determination, and the tones
in which he replied to Basil's welcome were those of a born commander.
In co