ttus. And
now--he was a proscribed rebel! Enemies thirsted for his blood! He was
riding beside a man who made no disclaimer of his intention to subvert
the constitution! If Caesar failed, he, Drusus, would share in "that
bad eminence" awarded by fame to the execrated Catilinarians. Was
it--was it not all a dream? Connected thought became impossible. Now
he was in the dear old orchard at Praeneste playing _micare_[156] with
Cornelia and AEmilia; now back in Athens, now in Rome. Poetry, prose,
scraps of oratory, philosophy, and rules of rhetoric,--Latin and Greek
inextricably intermixed,--ideas without the least possible connection,
raced through his head. How long he thus drifted on in his reverie he
might not say. Perhaps he fell asleep, for the fatigue of his
extraordinary riding still wore on him. A cry from Antiochus, a curse
from the German, startled him out of his stupor. He stared about. It
was pitch dark. "The gods blast it!" Antiochus was bawling. "The
lantern has jolted out!"

[156] A finger-guessing game.

To relight it under existing circumstances, in an age when friction
matches were unknown, was practically impossible.

"Fellow," said the proconsul's steady voice, "do you know the road to
Ariminum?"

The driver answered in his broken Latin that he was the slave of the
stable keeper who had let the carriage, and had been often over the
road, but to go safely in the dark was more than he could vouch for.
The only thing the German saw to be done was to wait in the road until
the morning, or until the moon broke out through the clouds.

"Drusus," remarked the proconsul, "you are the youngest. Can your eyes
make out anything to tell us where we are?"

The young man yawned, shook off his drowsiness, and stared out into
the gloomy void.

"I can just make out that to our left are tall trees, and I imagine a
thicket."

"Very good. If you can see as much as that here, it is safe to
proceed. Let us change places. I will take the reins. Do you, Drusus,
come and direct me."

"Oh! domine!" entreated Antiochus, "don't imperil yourself to-night!
I'm sure some calamity impends before dawn. I consulted a soothsayer
before setting out, and the dove which he examined had no heart--a
certain sign of evil."

"Rascal!" retorted his patron, "the omens will be more favourable when
I please. A beast wants a heart--no very great prodigy! men lose
theirs very often, and think it slight disgrace. Change your seat,
sirr