About this time Marcian fell sick. He had suffered much from
disappointment of high hopes, neither Heliodora nor Leander aiding
his schemes as he expected. The constant danger in which he lived
tried his fortitude to the utmost, and at length he began to burn
with fever. Agonies came upon him, for even the slightest disorder
in these plague-stricken times filled men with fear. And whilst he
lay thus wretched, his servants scarce daring to attend upon him--
Sagaris refused to enter his chamber, and held himself ready for
flight (with all he could lay hands on) as soon as the physician
should have uttered the fatal word--whilst his brain was confused
and his soul shaken with even worse than the wonted terrors, there
came to visit him the deacon Pelagius. That the visit happened at
this moment was mere chance, but Pelagius, hearing of Marcian's
condition, felt that he could not have come more opportunely. A
courageous man, strong in body as in mind, he was not to be alarmed
by mere talk of the pest; bidding the porter conduct him, he came to
Marcian's bedside, and there sat for half an hour.
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