Every one in the Laura honoured Aufugus. There was a mystery about
him which heightened the charm of his surpassing sanctity, his
childlike sweetness and humility. It was whispered--when the monks
seldom and cautiously did whisper together in their lonely walks--
that he had been once a great man; that he had come from a great
city--perhaps from Rome itself. And the simple monks were proud to
think that they had among them a man who had seen Rome. At least,
Abbot Pambo respected him. He was never beaten; never even
reproved--perhaps he never required it; but still it was the meed of
all; and was not the abbot a little partial? Yet, certainly, when
Theophilus sent up a messenger from Alexandria, rousing every Laura
with the news of the sack of Rome by Alaric, did not Pambo take him
first to the cell of Aufugus, and sit with him there three whole
hours in secret consultation, before he told the awful story to the
rest of the brotherhood? And did not Aufugus himself give letters
to the messenger, written with his own hand, containing, as was
said, deep secrets of worldly policy, known only to himself? So,
when the little lane of holy men, each peering stealthily over his
plaiting work from the doorway of his sandstone cell, saw the abbot,
after his unwonted passion, leave the culprit kneeling, and take his
way toward the sage's dwelling, they judged that something strange
and delicate had befallen the common weal, and each wished, without
envy, that he were as wise as the man whose counsel was to solve the
difficulty.

For an hour or more the abbot remained there, talking earnestly and
low; and then a solemn sound as of the two old men praying with sobs
and tears; and every brother bowed his head, and whispered a hope
that He whom they served might guide them for the good of the Laura,