dreadful doom, and this was
a thought which had power to break his rest. Neither to Marcian nor to
Decius did he speak of it in plain terms, merely hinting his belief
that the cruel and treacherous woman had provoked divine anger.

But the inclination to piety which resulted from such brooding was in
some measure counteracted by his hostile feeling towards all the
Church. Petronilla might have conceived the thought of imprisoning
Aurelia and Veranilda, but only with the aid of an influential cleric
such as Leander could she have carried it out so successfully. The
Church it was that held Veranilda captive; unless, indeed, it had
handed her over to the Greeks. This conviction made his heart burn with
wrath, which he could scarce subdue even whilst worshipping the
crucified Christ. His victim's heresy would of course be Leander's
excuse for what he had done; the daughter of Maximus and the Gothic
maiden were held in restraint for their souls' good. Not long after
Petronilla's death Basil had been driven by his distress of mind to
visit Gordian and Silvia, and to speak with them of this suspicion. He
saw that, for all their human kindness, they were disposed rather, to
approve than condemn the deacon's supposed action, and he had gone
forth from them in scarce concealed bitterness.

Now, in the festival days of Easter, his thoughts again turned to that
house on the Clivus Scauri, so near to his own dwelling, yet so remote
from the world of turbid passions in which his lot was cast. The
household of Gordian seemed untouched by common cares; though
thoroughly human its domestic life, it had something of the calm, the
silence, of a monastery. None entered save those whom husband and wife
held in affection or in respect; idle gaiety was unknown beneath their
roof, and worldly ambition had no part in their counsels. Because of
the reverence these things inspired in him, and because of his longing
to speak with a pure-hearted woman who held him in kindness, Basil
again presented himself at his kinsman's door. He was led directly to
an inner room, where sat Silvia.

The severe fasts of Lent had left their mark upon the young face, yet
it was fresh and smooth in its delicate pallor, and almost maidenly in
its gentle smile. Silvia had blue eyes, and hair of the chestnut hue; a
simple, white fillet lay above her forehead; her robe was of pale
russet, adorned with the usual purple stripes and edged with
embroidery; on each hand sh