ave of departure from the Greek commandant, under whose ban
he lay? The reply was unhesitating; at any moment, permission could be
granted. Therewith the conversation came to an end, and Basil, hating
the face of man, stole away into solitude.

Entering his own house, he learnt that Marcian was within. For a month
they had not seen each other, Marcian having been absent on missions of
the wonted double tenor; they met affectionately as ever, then Basil
flung himself down, like one crushed by sudden calamity.

'What now?' asked his friend, with a rallying rather than a sympathetic
air.

'No matter,' Basil replied. 'You are weary of my troubles, and I can no
longer talk of them.'

'What troubles? The old story still? I thought you had found solace?'

Basil looked an indignant wonder. His friend, sitting on the couch
beside him, continued in the same half-bantering tone:

'When were you last at the house of a certain disconsolate widow, on
the Quirinal?'

'What mean you?' cried the other, starting up, with sudden fury in his
eyes. 'Are you vowed with my enemies to drive me mad?'

'Not I, dear Basil; but hear the truth. Only late last night I entered
the gates of Rome, and since I rose this morning three several persons
have spoken your name to me together with that of Heliodora.'

'They are black and villainous liars! And you, Marcian, so ready to
believe them? Tell me their names, their names!'

'Peace! One would think you mad indeed. You know the son of Opilio,
young Vivian?'

'I know him!' answered Basil scornfully, 'as I know the lousy beggar
who sits before St. Clement's Church, or the African who tumbles in
Trajan's forum.'

'Even so. This same spark of fashion stops me in the Vicus Longus. "You
are the friend of Basil," quoth he. "Give him this warning. If ever I
chance to find him near the portico of Heliodora, I will drive my
dagger into his heart," and on he struts, leaving me so amazed that I
forgot even to fetch the cub a box o' the ear. But I had not long to
wait for an explanation of his insolence. Whom should I next meet but
the solemn-visaged Opilio. "So your friend Basil," he began, "has
forgotten his Gothic love?" We talked, and I learnt from him that you
were the hot rival of Vivian for Heliodora's favour. Nay, I do but
repeat what you ought to hear. Can such gossip begin without cause?
Tell me now, how often have you been yonder since I left Rome?'

Basil could scarce contain himself. He