ence. To-day he prayed with many tears that the Roman martyr would
enlighten him, and make him understand his duty to Rome.

As he was leaving the church, a hand touched him; he turned, and beheld
the deacon Leander, who led him apart.

'It is well that I have met you,' said the cleric, with less than his
usual bland deliberation. 'A messenger is at your house to bid you come
to me this evening. Can you leave Rome to-morrow?'

'On what mission?'

Leander pursed his lips for a moment, rolled his eyes hither and
thither, and said with a cautious smile:

'That for which you have been waiting.'

With difficulty Marcian dissembled his agitation. Was this the saint's
reply to his prayer? Or was it a temptation of the Evil Power, which it
behoved him to resist?

'I am ready,' he said, off-hand.

'You will be alone for the first day's journey, and in the evening you
will be met by such attendants as safety demands. Do you willingly
undertake the charge? Or is there some new danger which you had not
foreseen?'

'There is none,' replied Marcian, 'and I undertake the charge right
willingly.'

'Come to me, then, at sunset. The travel is planned in every detail,
and the letters ready. What follower goes with you?'

'The same as always--Sagaris.'

'Confide nothing to him until you are far from Rome. Better if you need
not even then.'

Leander broke off the conference, and walked away at a step quicker
than his wont. But Marcian, after lingering awhile in troubled thought,
returned to the martyr's grave. Long he remained upon his knees, the
conflict within him so violent that he could scarce find coherent words
of prayer. Meanwhile the August sky had clouded, and thunder was
beginning to roll. As he went forth again, a flash of lightning dazzled
him. He saw that it was on the left hand, and took courage to follow
the purpose that had shaped in his thoughts.

That evening, after an hour's close colloquy with Leander, he betook
himself by circuitous way to the dwelling of Pelagius, and with him
again held long talk. Then went home, through the dark, still streets,
to such slumber as his conscience might permit.

CHAPTER XIX

THE PRISONER OF PRAENESTE

On the morrow of St. Laurentius, at that point of dawn when a man can
recognise the face of one who passes, there issued from the Lateran a
silent company equipped for travel. In a covered carriage drawn by two
horses sat the Pope, beside him a churchman of h