Being the son of a freedman who had served in the Anician
house, the bishop could not approach Maximus without excessive
reverence; before Petronilla he was even more unduly awed.
On Sunday morning the good prelate lay wakeful at the hour of
matins, and with quavering voice chanted to himself the psalm of the
office from which his weakness held him apart. Presently the door
opened, and in the dim lamp-light appeared the presbyter Andreas,
stepping softly. He made known that an urgent message had just
summoned him to the villa; Maximus was near his end.
'I, too, will come,' exclaimed the bishop, rising in his bed and
ringing loudly a little hand-bell.
'Venerable father! your health--'
'Hasten, hasten, Andreas! I follow.'
In less than an hour he descended from his litter, and, resting on
the arms of two servants, was conducted to the chamber of the dying
man. Andreas had just administered the last rites; whether the fixed
eyes still saw was doubtful. At a murmur of 'the bishop' those by
the doorway reverently drew aside. On one side of the bed were
Aurelia and the deacon; on the other, Petronilla and Basil and
Decius.
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