‘Speak on,’ said Basil gloomily, fixing his eyes upon the oriental visage, so little reassuring to one harassed by suspicions.

’It is regarding my dear lord, Illustrious, that I would say a humble word, if your nobility will bear with me.’

‘What can that be?’

’I am guilty, I know, of much presumption, but I entreat your nobility’s patience, for in truth it is only my love and my fears that embolden me to speak.  What I would make known to you, Illustrious, is that for more than two whole days my dear lord has not broken bread.  Since our return to Rome he has fasted all but continuously, at the same time inflicting upon himself many other penances of the severest kind.  For this, I well know, he will have his reward in the eternal life; but when I note his aspect, I am overcome with fear lest we should lose him too soon.  This morning, when I was helping him to dress, he sank down, and lay for a time as one dead.  My lord would rebuke me severely if he knew that I had ventured to speak of these things; but with you, Illustrious, I feel that I am in no danger.  You will understand me, and pardon me.’

Basil had raised himself to a sitting position.  Supporting himself on one hand, he stared straight before him, and only spoke when a movement on the part of the servant betrayed impatience.

’This has gone on, you say, since your return to Rome?  Was it your lord’s habit to do such penance on his travels?’

’Never in this extreme, though I have always marvelled at his piety.’

Again Basil kept a long silence.

‘You have done well to tell me,’ he said at length; then, with a wave of the hand, dismissed the Syrian.

It was nearly mid-day when Marcian returned.  At the sight of Basil his pale, weary countenance assumed a troubled smile.  He embraced his friend, kissing him affectionately on both cheeks, and sat down by him with a sigh of fatigue.

‘What makes you so wan?’ asked Basil, peering into his eyes.

‘I sleep ill.’

‘Why so?  Is it pain or thought that keeps you wakeful?’

‘Both, perhaps,’ answered Marcian.  He paused, reflected gloomily, and went on in a subdued voice.  ’Do you think often, Basil, of the eternal fire?’

‘Not often.  Sometimes, of course.’

’Last night I had a dream, which assuredly was a temptation of the evil one.  My father stood before me, and said, “Fear not, Marcian, for there is no Gehenna.  It is but the vision of man’s tormented conscience.”  And I awoke with a great joy.  But at once the truth came upon me; and until dawn I prayed for strength to resist that perilous solace.  This morning I have talked long with a holy man, opening my heart to him, that he might finally resolve my doubts.  I said to him:  “Slaves who have committed a fault are punished that they may amend.  To what purpose is the punishment of the wicked after death, since there can be no amendment?” and he replied:  “My son, the wicked are punished in Gehenna that the just may feel gratitude to the divine grace which has preserved them from such a doom.”  “But,” I objected, “ought not the just to pray for their enemies in such evil case?” His answer was prompt:  “The time for prayer is past.  The blessed concur in the judgment of God!"’