TO CUMAE The Bishop of Surrentum, an elderly man and infirm, had for the past fortnight been unable to leave his house, but day by day he received news of what passed at the villa of Maximus, and held with the presbyter, Andreas, many colloquies on that weighty topic, the senator's testament.

As it happened, neither bishop nor presbyter had much aptitude for worldly affairs; they were honest, simple-minded clerics, occupied with visions and marvels and the saving details of dogma; exultant whenever a piece of good fortune befell their church, but modest in urging a claim at the bedside of the sick.

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.