ou have sworn!'

'Hear me repeat my oath,' answered the father, strengthened by his
emotion to move forward from the couch. 'By the blessed martyr
Pancratius, I swear that no harm shall befall you, no constraint shall
be put upon you, that you shall be free to come and to go as you will.'

It was the oath no perjurer durst make. Aurelia gazed into her father's
face, which was wet with tears. She stepped nearer to him, took his
thin, hot hand, and, as in her childhood, bent to kiss the back of the
wrist. But Maximus folded her to his heart.

CHAPTER II

BASIL'S VISION

Basil and Decius paced together a garden alley, between a row of
quince-trees and a hedge of Christ's-thorn; at one end was a fountain
in a great basin of porphyry, at the other a little temple, very old
and built for the worship of Isis, now an oratory under the invocation
of the Blessed Mary. The two young men made a singular contrast, for
Basil, who was in his twenty-third year, had all the traits of health
and vigour: a straight back, lithe limbs, a face looking level on the
world, a lustrous eye often touched to ardour, a cheek of the purest
carnation, a mouth that told of fine instincts, delicate sensibilities,
love of laughter. No less did his costume differ from the student's
huddled garb; his tunic was finely embroidered in many hues, his silken
cloak had a great buckle of gold on the shoulder; he wore ornate shoes,
and by his waist hung a silver-handled dagger in a sheath of chased
bronze. He stepped lightly, as one who asks but the occasion to run and
leap. In their intimate talk, he threw an arm over his companion's
neck, a movement graceful as it was affectionate; his voice had a note
frank and cordial.

Yet Basil was not quite his familiar self to-day; he talked with less
than his natural gaiety, wore a musing look, fell into silences. Now
that Aurelia had come, there was no motive for reserve on that subject
with Decius, and indeed they conversed of their kinswoman with perfect
openness, pitying rather than condemning her, and wondering what would
result from her presence under one roof with the rigid Petronilla. Not
on Aurelia's account did Basil droop his head now and then, look about
him vacantly, bite his lip, answer a question at hazard, play nervously
with his dagger's hilt. All at once, with an abruptness which moved his
companion's surprise, he made an inquiry, seemingly little relevant to
their topic.

'Heard you ev