“Poor child,” said the good priest as he passed through the porch, “thou lookest wearied and careworn; sleep on, no one shall disturb thee.” When he awoke the sun was going down in the heaven.
Malitius was as sleepless during the night as the poor youth, and his anxiety drove him early from his bed, and suffered him not to be at peace all the day. Now when it was noon the steward could no longer remain in the palace, but he hastened to the lime-kilns, and demanded of the lime-burners “whether they had performed the emperor’s will.”
“Not yet,” cried they, with hoarse voices, “but no fear, master; it shall be done forthwith.”
With these words, the men seized Malitius, and hurried with him in their arms to the mouth of the kiln.
“Mercy, mercy, good sirs,” cried the steward, “it is Fulgentius you should burn; not me.”
“Ha! ha!” laughed the lime-burners; “we know neither thee nor Fulgentius; thou art the first man that has come here this day and asked us: ‘Whether we have done the emperor’s will’; so peace, man, peace. Ha! ha! his will is done.”
So Malitius died in the fire.
It was past noon when Fulgentius awoke, and the sun was going down in its course.
“Alas! alas!” he said, “I have delayed to perform my lord’s will.”
And he hastened through the wood, and came to the lime-kilns.