his infamy, and for the gravest
reasons, which you shall learn, I am obliged to mask my knowledge.
Beloved father, you will give me your countenance?'

'I will, I will,' replied Gaudiosus nervously. 'You would not deceive
me, I well know, dear son.'

'God forbid!'

Marcian summoned the waiting servant, and ordered that the traveller
should be straightway admitted. A few minutes passed in absolute
silence, then, as the two stood gazing towards the entrance, they saw
the gleam of a casque and of a breastplate, and before them stood
Basil. His arms extended, Marcian stepped forward.

'So soon, O brave Basil!' he exclaimed. 'What speed you must have made!
How long is it since my letter reached you?'

There passed the semblance of an embrace between them. Basil was death
pale; he spoke in hollow tones, as though his tongue were parched, and
looked with bloodshot eyes from Marcian to the ecclesiastic.

'I am travel-worn. Your hospitality must restore me.'

'That it shall,' replied Marcian. 'Or, better still,' he added, 'the
hospitality of my father Gaudiosus.' He touched the priest's arm, as if
affectionately. 'For here there is little solace; barely one chamber
habitable. You have often heard me describe, O Basil, my poor, ruinous
island villa, and now at length you behold it. I did not think you
would pass this way, or I would have prepared for your fitting
reception. By the greatest chance you find me here; and to-morrow I
must be gone. But scarce two thousand paces from here is the dwelling
of this reverend man, who will entertain you fittingly, and give you
the care you need; for it seems to me, dear Basil, that you are more
than wearied.'

The listener nodded, and let himself drop upon a seat near to where
Marcian was standing.

'What have you to tell me?' he asked under his breath.

'Nothing good, alas!' was the murmured reply.

'Shall we speak in private?'

'Nay, it is needless. All my secrets lie open to Gaudiosus.'

Again Basil cast a glance at the presbyter, who had seated himself and
appeared to be absorbed in thought.

'Do you mean,' he asked, 'that something new has befallen?'

His eyes were upon Marcian, and Marcian's upon those of Proserpine.

'Yes, something new. The deacon of whom you know has left Rome,
accompanying the Pope on his journey eastward. And with him he has
taken--'

A name was shaped upon the speaker's lips, but whether of purpose, or
because his voice failed him, it foun