become graver, perhaps a little sad.

'Is it your purpose to stay long in Rome?' was Aurelia's next
question, toned with rather excessive simplicity.

'To stay long?' exclaimed Basil. 'How can you think it? Perchance I
shall not even enter the city. At Portus, I may resign my duty into
other hands, and so straightway return.'

There was a conflict in Aurelia's mind. Reverence for her father
approved the thought of his remains being transported under the
guardianship of Basil; none the less did she dread this journey, and
feel tempted to hinder it. She rose from her chair.

'Let us walk into the sunshine,' she said. 'The morning is chilly.'
And, as she passed out into the court, hand in hand with Veranilda,
'O, the pleasure of these large spaces, this free air, after the
straight house at Cumae! Do you not breathe more lightly, sweetest?
Come into Proba's garden, and I will show you where I sat with my
broidery when I was no older than you.'

The garden was approached by a vaulted passage. A garden long
reconquered by nature; for the paths were lost in herbage, the seats
were overgrown with creeping plants, and the fountain had crumbled
into ruin. A high wall formerly enclosed it, but, in a shock of
earthquake some years ago, part of this had fallen, leaving a gap
which framed a lovely picture of the inland hills. Basil pulled away
the trailing leafage from a marble hemicycle, and, having spread his
cloak upon it, begged tremorously that Veranilda would rest.