questioned him as to the likely betrayer, and the name of Sagaris
having been mentioned, used the opportunity to learn what she could
concerning the man.

'I cannot promise to give him up to you to be tortured,' said Marcian,
with his characteristic smile of irony.

'That I do not ask. But,' she added significantly, 'will you send him
here, and let me use gentler ways of discovering what I can?'

'That, willingly.'

And when Marcian went away, he reflected that all was not yet lost. For
Heliodora still had faith in the prophecy of her astrologer; she was
more resolute than ever in her resolve to triumph over Bessas; she
could gain nothing to this end by helping her confederate's ruin.
Before parting, they had agreed that Marcian would do well to affect
ignorance of the discovery Bessas had made; time and events must
instruct them as to the projects of their enemies, and guide their own
course.

That same day, he despatched the Syrian with a letter to Heliodora, and
on the man's return spoke with him as if carelessly of his commission.
He remarked that the face of Sagaris shone as though exultantly, but no
indiscreet word dropped from the vaunter's lips. A useful fellow,
murmured Marcian within himself, and smiled contempt.

Another day or two of indecision, then in obedience to an impulse he
could no longer resist, he sought speech with the deacon Pelagius. Not
without trouble was this obtained, for Pelagius was at all times busy,
always beset by suitors of every degree, the Romans holding him in high
reverence, and making their appeals to him rather than to the Pope, for
whom few had a good word. When at last Marcian was admitted to the
deacon's presence, he found himself disconcerted by the long, silent
scrutiny of eyes deep read in the souls of men. No word would reach his
lips.

'I have been expecting you,' said the deacon at length, gravely, but
without severity. 'You have made no haste to come.'

'Most reverend,' replied Marcian, in a tone of the deepest reproach, 'I
knew not certainly whether I had indeed made confession to you, or if
it was but a dream of fever.'

Pelagius smiled. He was standing by a table, and his hand lay upon an
open volume.

'You are of noble blood, lord Marcian,' he continued, 'and the
greatness of your ancestors is not unknown to you. Tell me by what
motive you have been induced to play the traitor against Rome. I cannot
think it was for the gain that perishes. Rather would I