Leander was busied just now in a matter peculiarly con. genial to him, the destruction of an ancient building in order to enrich with its columns and precious marbles a new Christian church.  At the hour appointed, Marcian found him in the temple of Minerva Chalcidica, directing workmen as to what they should remove; before him lay certain mouldings in green porphyry (the precious lapis Lacedaemonius), which had been carefully broken from their places, and he was regarding them with the eye of a lover.  For the first few minutes of their conversation, Marcian felt mistrust, as the deacon appeared to have no intelligence of any secret purpose in this meeting; but presently, still gossiping of stones, Leander led him out of the temple and walked in the shadowy public place beside the Pantheon.

‘That must be purified and consecrated,’ he remarked, glancing from the granite columns of Agrippa’s porch to the bronze-tiled dome.  ‘Too long it has been left to the demons.’

Marcian, preoccupied as he was, listened with awe.  Since the ravage of the Vandals, no mortal had passed those vast doors, behind which all the gods of heathendom, known now for devils, lurked in retreat.

‘I have urged it upon the Holy Father,’ Leander added.  ’But Vigilius is all absorbed in the dogmatics of Byzantium.  A frown of the Empress Theodora is more to him than the glory of the Omnipotent and the weal of Christendom.’

The look which accompanied these words was the first hint to Marcian that he might speak in confidence.  He inquired whether the Pope, as was reported, would shortly sail for Constantinople.

‘Before another week has passed,’ was the reply, ’he will embark.  He would fain go forth’—­a malicious smile was in the corner of Leander’s eye—­’without leave-taking of his beloved people but that can scarce be permitted.’

‘Ere he return,’ said Marcian, ‘things of moment may happen.’

Again the deacon smiled.  Seeing on the steps of the Pantheon a couple of idlers playing at flash-finger, they turned aside to be out of earshot.

‘We are agreed, it seems,’ remarked Leander quickly, ’that there is hope of the heretic.  You had news of him yesterday?  I, also.  It may be in my power to render him some service—­presently, presently.  Meanwhile, what can you tell me of the lost maiden about whom there has been so much talk?  Is it true that Bessas has sent her to the East?’

Marcian turned his eyes upon the speaker’s face, and regarded him fixedly with a half smile.  For a moment the deacon appeared to be unconscious of this; then he met the familiar look, averted his head again, and said in the same tone as before: 

‘The heretic, I learn, would gladly see her.’

‘It would be as well, I think,’ was the reply, ’if his wish were gratified.’

‘Ah?  But how would that please a friend of yours, dear lord?’ asked Leander, with unaffected interest.