A useful fellow, murmured Marcian within himself, and smiled contempt.
Another day or two of indecision, then in obedience to an impulse he could no longer resist, he sought speech with the deacon Pelagius.

Not without trouble was this obtained, for Pelagius was at all times busy, always beset by suitors of every degree, the Romans holding him in high reverence, and making their appeals to him rather than to the Pope, for whom few had a good word.

When at last Marcian was admitted to the deacon's presence, he found himself disconcerted by the long, silent scrutiny of eyes deep read in the souls of men.

No word would reach his lips.
'I have been expecting you,' said the deacon at length, gravely, but without severity.

'You have made no haste to come.' 'Most reverend,' replied Marcian, in a tone of the deepest reproach, 'I knew not certainly whether I had indeed made confession to you, or if it was but a dream of fever.' Pelagius smiled.