a guess at that man's name.'

'Nay, I doubt if you could, and indeed it matters nothing. Enough that
I may do you some little service.'

'For which,' replied Basil, 'I cannot pay you, since all my love is
already yours. And she--Heliodora,' he added, with a careless gesture,
'knows of your mission?'

'Of my mission, no; but of my proposed journey. Though indeed she may
know more than I suppose. Who shall say what reaches the ear of
Heliodora--?'

'You have not heard perhaps that her husband is dead?'

'The Prefect dead?' exclaimed Basil.

'Three weeks ago.--Rather suddenly--after supper. An indigestion, no
doubt.'

Marcian spoke with peculiar dryness, averting his eyes from the
listener. Upon Basil's face came a deep flush; he took out the folded
paper again, and held it at arm's length.

'You mean--? You think--?' he stammered.

'About women I think not at all,' said the other, 'as you well know.
There is talk, talk--what care I?'

Basil tore the letter open. It contained a lock of raven-black hair,
tied with gold thread, and on the paper was written, in Greek, 'I am
free.' Again his cheek flushed; he crushed paper and hair together in
his hand.

'Let us never again speak of her,' he exclaimed, moving away from the
spot. 'Before I left Rome, I told you that I would gladly see her no
more, and you smiled dubiously. Believe me now. I abhor the thought of
her. If she ask you for my reply, repeat those words.'

'Nay, dear my lord, in that I will beg to be excused,' replied Marcian
with his melancholy smile.

They were walking silently, side by side, when the servant Felix again
presented himself before them. Maximus, having heard of the arrival of
Marcian from Rome, requested that he and Basil would grant him a moment
of their leisure. At once the young men turned to obey this summons. On
the way, Basil communicated to his friend in a whisper the event of the
day. A couple of hours having passed since Aurelia's coming, the
Senator had in some degree recovered from his agitation; he lay now in
a room which opened upon the central court of the villa, a room adorned
with rich marbles and with wall-paintings which were fading under the
hand of time. Deathly pale, scarce able to raise his head from the
cushion of the couch, he none the less showed a countenance bright with
joyous emotion. His quivering voice strove to welcome the visitor
cheerily.

'What news from the city, dear lord Marcian? How are all our