never did voice before; and I listened,
listened, hoping she would speak again.'

'Who may she be? Has not the lady Aurelia adorned her origin? Golden
hair and blue eyes are no rarity among daughters of the Goths.'

'Had you seen her!' exclaimed Basil, and grew rapturous again. Whilst
he exhausted language in the effort to prove how remote was Veranilda
from any shape of loveliness easily presented by memory or imagination,
Marcian pondered.

'I can think of but one likelihood,' was his quiet remark, when his
friend had become silent. 'King Theodahad had a daughter, who married
the Gothic captain, Ebrimut.'

'The traitor,' murmured Basil uneasily.

'Or friend of the Romans, as you will. He delivered Rhegium to
Belisarius, and enjoys his reward at Byzantium. What if he left a child
behind him?'

Basil repulsed the suggestion vehemently.

'Not that! I had half thought of it myself; but no. Aurelia said of the
house of Theodoric.'

'Why so would be a daughter of Ebrimut, through her mother--who was the
daughter of Theodahad, who was the son of Amalafrida, who was the
sister of Theodoric himself.'

'She could not have meant that,' protested Basil. 'Child of a mercenary
traitor, who opened Italy to his people's foe! Not that! Had you seen
her, you would not believe it.'

'Oh, my good Basil,' laughed the other, 'do you think I should see her
with your eyes? But perhaps we conjecture idly quite missing the mark.
What does it matter? You have no intention, I hope, of returning to
Cumae?'

Basil opened his lips to reply, but thought better of it, and said
nothing. Then his friend turned to speak of the ecclesiastical visitor
who had that evening arrived, and, the subject not proving very
fruitful, each presently betook himself to his night's repose.

CHAPTER III

THE DEACON LEANDER

The deacon Leander was some forty years of age, stoutish, a trifle
asthmatic, with a long visage expressive of much shrewdness, and bushy
eyebrows, which lent themselves at will to a look of genial
condescension, of pious austerity, or of stern command. His dark hair
and reddish beard were carefully trimmed; so were the nails of his
shapely, delicate hands. His voice, now subject to huskiness, had until
a few years ago been remarkably powerful and melodious; no deacon in
Rome was wont to excite more admiration by his chanting of the Gradual;
but that glory had passed away, and at the present time Leander's
spiritual activ