Veranilda | Page 6

side, from the
shoulders to the hem, and about her neck lay a shawl of delicate tissue.
In her hand, which glistened with many gems, she carried a small
volume, richly bound, the Psalter. Courtesies of the gravest passed
between her and Maximus, who, though he could not rise from his
couch, assumed an attitude of graceful deference, and Petronilla seated
herself in a chair which a slave had placed for her. After many inquiries
as to her brother's health, the lady allowed her eyes to wander for a
moment, then spoke with the smile of one who imparts rare tidings.
'Late last night--too late to trouble you with the news--there came a
post from the reverend deacon Leander. He disembarked yesterday at
Salernum, and, after brief repose, hopes to visit us. Your Amiability
will, I am sure, welcome his coming.'
'Assuredly,' answered Maximus, bending his head, whilst his eyes
watched the distant sail. 'Whence comes he?'
'From Sicily. We shall learn, I dare say, the business which took him
there,' added Petronilla, with a self-satisfied softening of her lips. 'The

deacon is wont to talk freely with me of whatever concerns the interests
of our holy Church, even as I think you remember, has now and then
deigned--though I know not how I have deserved such honour--to ask, I
dare not say my counsel, but my humble thoughts on this or that. I
think we may expect him before morning. The day will not be too
warm for travel.'
Maximus wore an anxious look, and spoke after hesitation.
'Will his reverend leisure permit him to pass more than one day with
us?'
'Earnestly I hope so. You, beyond doubt, dear lord, my brother, will
desire long privacy with the holy man. His coming at this time is
plainly of Heaven's direction.'
'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