’To Picenum, which is not yet subject to the Goths.  There gather your capable men and arm them, and send to the King Totila, offering to serve him where he will, and how he will.  You know,’ pursued Decius earnestly, ’that I speak this something against my conscience, but, alas! we can only choose between evils, and I think Totila is less of a tyrant than Justinian.  You will not go to Constantinople, nor would I bid you, for there, assuredly, is nothing to be done worthy of a man; but you must act, or you perish.  For me, a weakling and a dreamer, there is solace in the vita umbratilis; to you, it is naught.  Arise, then, O Basil, ere it be too late.’

The listener rose from his recumbent attitude; he was stirred by this unwonted vigour in Decius, but not yet did resolve appear on his countenance.

‘Did I but know,’ he murmured, ‘that Veranilda is not in Rome!’

Innumerable times had he said it; the thought alone held him inert.  Impossible to discover, spite of all his efforts, whether Veranilda had been delivered to the Greeks, or still lay captive in some place known to the deacon Leander.  From the behaviour of Bessas nothing could be certainly deduced:  it was now a long time since he had sent for Basil, and Marcian, though believing that the commander’s search was still futile, had no more certainty than his friend.  Soon after Petronilla’s death, the Anician mansion had been thoroughly pillaged and everything of value removed to the Palatine.  Bessas condescended to justify this proceeding:  having learnt, he said, that the question of Aurelia’s orthodoxy lay in doubt, some declaring that she was a heretic, some that she had returned to orthodoxy before her father’s death, he took charge of the property which might be hers until she appeared to claim it, when, having the testament of Maximus in his hand, he would see that justice was done.  With Leander, Basil had succeeded in obtaining an interview, which was altogether fruitless.  The deacon would answer no question, and contented himself with warning his visitor of the dangers incurred by one who openly sought to defeat the will of the Emperor.

‘Is it farewell?’ asked Decius, stepping towards his kinsman, who seemed about to leave the room.

‘I will think.’

’Go speak with Gordian.  He says that he can obtain you permission to leave the city.’

‘I doubt it,’ replied Basil.  ‘But I will see him—­ere long.’

Decius went forth for his morning’s exercise, which sometimes took the form of a gentle game of ball, but was generally a ramble on foot and unaccompanied, for he never felt at ease when an attendant followed him.  His habits were solitary; ever absorbed in thought, or lost in dreams, he avoided the ways where he would be likely to encounter an acquaintance, and strayed among ruins in deserted gardens, such as were easily found in the remoter parts of the Caelian.  To-day, tempted on by the delicious air, and the bright