land, and promised an annual shipload of prime hogs to feed St. Peter’s poor.  By smooth transition he passed to higher themes:  with absent eyes turned to the laurel-planted court on to which the hall opened, he spoke as if scarcely aware of a listener, of troubles at Rome occasioned by imprudences, indiscretions—­what should he say—­of the Holy Father.  As Petronilla bent forward, all tremulous curiosity, he lowered his voice, grew frankly confidential.  The Pope had been summoned to Byzantium, to discuss certain points of doctrine with the Emperor; his departure was delayed, but no doubt in his weakness he would obey.  Verily, the lack of courage—­not to use severer terms—­so painfully evident in Pope Vigilius, was a grave menace to the Church—­the Catholic Church, which, rightly claiming to rule Christendom, should hold no terms with the arrogance of Justinian.  Could it be wondered that the Holy Father was disliked—­not to say hated—­by the people of Rome?  By his ill management the papal granaries had of late been so ill stored that the poor had suffered famine, the Greeks having put an end to that gratuitous distribution of food to which the Roman populace had from of old been accustomed.  On this account, chiefly, had Leander journeyed to Sicily, to look after the supplies of corn, and seek out those who were to blame for the recent negligence.  His bushy eyebrows gave a hint of their sterner possibilities as he spoke of the measures he had taken, the reproofs and threats he had distributed.

‘May I live,’ breathed Petronilla, with modest emphasis, ’to see a great, a noble, a puissant Pontiff in the Apostolic Chair!’

Whereat the deacon smiled, well understanding whither the lady looked for her ideal Pope.  She went on to speak of the part Vigilius had played in the deposition and miserable death of his predecessor Silverius, and that, as was too well known, at the bidding of haughty, unscrupulous women, the Empress Theodora and her friend Antonina, wife of Belisarius.  Verily, the time had come for a great reform at the Lateran; the time had come, and perhaps the divine instrument was not far to seek.  Whereupon Petronilla murmured ardently, and the deacon again smiled.

There was a pause.  Having permitted Leander to muse a little, his hostess turned the conversation to the troublous topic of her thoughts; and began by saying how her brother would esteem the privilege of counsel and solace from one so qualified to impart them.  But alas she must make known a distressful occurrence, whereby the office of a spiritual adviser by the bedside of Maximus must needs be complicated and made painful; and therewith Petronilla related the events of yesterday.  As he listened, the deacon knitted his brows, but in thought rather than in affliction; and when the speaker was silent, he still mused awhile.

‘Gracious madam,’ he began at length solemnly, ’you of course hold no intercourse with this lady?’