Perhaps
they were even more astonished at this proof that their master
seriously guarded the privacy of his guest; last night they had
slept for long hours undisturbed, and, on waking, congratulated each
other with familiar jests on having done just what was expected of
them.
The morn broke dark and stormy. Thunder-clouds purpled before the
rising sun, and ere mid-day there fell torrents of rain. Heedless of
the sky, Marcian rode forth this morning; rode aimlessly about the
hills, for the villa was no longer endurable to him. He talked
awhile with a labouring serf, who told him that the plague had
broken out in Arpinum, where, during the last week or two, many had
died. From his steward he had already heard the same news, but
without heeding it; it now alarmed him, and for some hours fear had
a wholesome effect upon his thoughts. In the coolness following upon
the storm, he enjoyed a long, tranquil sleep. And this day he did
not see Veranilda.
A mile or two down the valley was a church, built by Marcian's
grandfather, on a spot where he had been saved from great peril; the
land attached to it supported two priests and certain acolytes,
together with a little colony of serfs.
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