It was a day of burning sunshine, of heat scarce tolerable even in places the most sheltered.

Clad only in a loose tunic, bare-armed, bare-footed, he lay or sauntered wherever shade was dense, as far as possible from the part of the villa consecrated to his guest.

Hour after hour crawled by, an eternity of distressful idleness.

And, even while wishing for the day's end, he dreaded the coming of the night.
It came; the silent, lonely night, the warm, perfumed night, the season of fierce temptations, of dreadful opportunity.

Never had the passionate soul of Marcian been so manifestly lured by the Evil One, never had it fought so desperately in the strength of religious hopes and fears.