‘Lady sister,’ answered Maximus, with the faintest smile on his sad features, ’I would not willingly rob you of a moment’s conference with the good deacon.  My own business with him is soon despatched.  I would fain be assured of burial in the Temple of Probus where sleep our ancestors.’

‘Of that,’ replied Petronilla, solemnly and not unkindly, ’doubt not for a moment.  Your body shall lie there, by the blessed Peter’s sanctuary, and your tomb be honoured among those of the greatest of our blood.  But there is another honour that I covet for you, an honour above all that the world can bestow.  In these sad times, Maximus, the Church has need of strengthening.  You have no children—­’

A glance from the listener checked her, and, before she could resume, Maximus interposed in a low voice: 

‘I have yet a daughter.’

‘A daughter?’ exclaimed Petronilla, troubled, confused, scarce subduing indignation.

‘It is better I should tell you,’ continued her brother, with some sternness, resulting from the efforts to command himself, ’that Basil is gone to Cumae to see Aurelia, and, if it may be, to lead her to me.  Perhaps even now’—­he pointed to the sea—­’they are on the way hither.  Let us not speak of it, Petronilla,’ he added in a firmer tone.  ’It is my will; that must suffice.  Of you I ask nothing save silence.’

The lady arose.  Her countenance expressed angry and bitter feeling, but there was no danger of her uttering what she thought.  Gravely, somewhat coldly, she spoke good wishes for her brother’s ease during the day, and so retired with her retinue.  Alone, Maximus sighed, and looked again across the waters.

In a few minutes the servant who guarded his privacy was again heard announcing the lord Decius.  The Senator turned his eyes with a look of good-humoured greeting.

’Abroad so early, good cousin?  Did the oil fail you last night and send you too soon to bed?’

‘You have not chanced to remember, dear my lord, what day it is?’ returned Decius, when he had bestowed a kiss on his kinsman’s cheek.  ’Had I but vigour enough, this morning would have seen me on a pilgrimage to the tomb.’  He put out a hand towards Neapolis.  ’I rose at daybreak to meditate the Fourth Eclogue.’

’The ides of October—­true.  I take shame to myself for having lost the memory of Virgil in my own distresses.’

Decius, whose years were scarce thirty, had the aspect and the gait of an elderly man; his thin hair streaked with grey, his cheeks hollow, his eyes heavy, he stooped in walking and breathed with difficulty; the tunic and the light cloak, which were all his attire, manifested an infinite carelessness in matters of costume, being worn and soiled.  Than he, no Roman was poorer; he owned nothing but his clothing and a few books.  Akin to the greatest, and bearing a name of which he was inordinately proud—­as a schoolboy he had once burst into tears when reciting with passion