They talked over the disquieting vision, whilst the little lamp-flame, wavering in breaths of air, cast strange shadows about the room.  On the walls were faded frescoes, one of which represented the poetess Proba on her knees before St. Agnes.  Impelled by her fears, Aurelia of a sudden knelt before this picture, and prayed silently to the virgin martyr.  Then Veranilda rose from the couch, and knelt beside her.  Having solaced their souls, they kissed each other tenderly.

‘You are not afraid,’ whispered Veranilda, ’that Basil may be in the garden when we go forth?’

‘Basil?  Ah, little rogue, have you betrayed yourself?’

’Of a truth, dearest lady, he has been there more than once, but not, oh not so early!’

‘Nay, I hope not,’ said Aurelia.  ‘It were scarce maidenly—­’

’Never, never before the east had broken for the dayspring!  Never, I swear to you, O my heart’s friend!’

’Then there is small fear of his interrupting us this morning; all the more that he must have sat late with his friends, talking of many things.  I am glad of the coming of this brave Venantius; it puts an end to every peril.’

They conversed on this encouraging theme until Aurelia’s ear caught the sound of a footfall in the gallery.  She stepped forth and encountered a female slave, who told her that there wanted two hours to dawn; it was time, then, to set forth and a few minutes saw them ready.  In the garden they were met by the watchman, who carried a lantern.  He, having merely been ordered to stand in readiness at this hour and being ignorant of his mistress’s intention, showed astonishment when he saw Aurelia and her companion bent on going out.  He took it for granted that he was to accompany them.  But at this moment there appeared in the rays of the lantern a black figure, which had entered by the breach in the wall.  Aurelia whispered a few words to her watchman, whose religion was the same as hers, and at once he dropped to his knees.

‘Peace be with you, good brother,’ said the monk, in his feeble voice, as he drew a lantern from beneath his cloak.  You may not accompany us; but have no fear.  The way is short.’

Forthwith he turned, and Aurelia, holding Veranilda’s hand, followed where he lighted the way.  For a few minutes they pursued a level path, then, passing between myrtles, began to descend the seaward slope.  The ground was rough, but the monk, going before, marked the places for their footing.  A few minutes thus, and they reached trees, black against a sky sown with stars and overshimmered by a wasted moon.  Veranilda, who was trembling, clung to her companion’s arm.

‘How much further?’ asked Aurelia, striving to make her voice firm.  ‘This is not the way by which I came before.’

‘Scarce fifty steps.  See you not the light yonder?’

Among the trees was perceptible a faint shining.  Hand tight clasped in hand, the two moved forward over thick herbage, and still descended.  They drew near to the light, and saw that it issued from a little cave.  Within stood a man, bent as if with age and infirmities, his face half-hidden under a cowl.  When the visitors were near, he stretched forth his arms, murmuring words of welcome, and the two knelt devoutly before him.