the Via Strata, and for the first time slackened

their pace.

'Is Constantine dead,-have you done your work?'

'No,' replied Evanus.

'Confusion! then all is lost; how have you

failed?'

'I cannot tell you.'

Muttering deep curses, Pompeianus rode on with all possible speed, and they scarcely slackened until they reached the Via Strata, about daybreak, where they found a light biga, or two-horse chariot, awaiting them.

They paused but a few moments, took some slight refreshment, and rode on again.

'If Constantine lives,' said Pompeianus, 'there is no safety for us in Britain; I trust Lutatius is dead, not wounded; in the latter case he may have told all.'

'I know not,' said Evanus.

Pompeianus made most desperate efforts to get some information of a more satisfactory nature, but failed: in fact, it was evident that the mind of poor Evanus was sadly shaken, and that it would require rest to restore its wonted tone; he followed passively, his only desire seemed to be to escape somewhere.

They were rapidly passing through the province south of the Thames known as Britannia Prima,1 the most opulent and fertile portion of the island, populated very thickly, and possessing very excellent roads. The pastures were crowded by flocks of sheep and oxen, the parks and woodlands with deer, while they traversed whole districts of arable land covered at that time with the golden corn, awaiting the sickle, or already standing in shocks.

Now and then they passed huge mysterious barrows, which told of the days long gone by, when the Druids ruled the land as they still ruled the Caledonian Highlands; but cromlechs, barrows, circles of stone, already seemed to speak of hoar antiquity, the land of the Atrebatii was no longer known by the name of that ancient British nation.

1

They reached Augusta or Londinium, before noon, and seeking the chief hospitium, gave their tired horses rest, and slept a few hours; then resuming their journey in the evening with fresh horses, they turned to the south-east, and travelling nearly all night, resting only a short time at a roadside inn, they beheld at early dawn, from the summit of a hill, 1 See Note Q.

the great forest known as Anderida Sylva, and beyond it in the far distance the sea glittering like silver in the dawning light.

On the edge of the water they could faintly distinguish the buildings of a fortified city: it was Anderida, the modern Pevensey, then one of the principal ports of Britannia Prima.

Descending the hill, they joined the main road and entered the solemn shades of a mighty forest; grand oaks and beeches rose like the columns in some vast cathedral aisle; the deer abounded in its recesses, and were rigorously preserved; the wolf and bear had been exterminated, or nearly so; they had another lease of our forests, under the Anglo-Saxons.1 So they rode for hours, along the great trunk road from Londinium (or Augusta, as it was more commonly called) to Anderida; their route lay under the solemn and grateful shade of the trees, for the sun was again high in the heavens, until suddenly emerging from the forest they beheld the walls of Anderida before them, and the masts of numerous ships rising beyond the walls, crowding the spacious harbour.

The road now ran along the bank of the little river which here made its exit into the sea; it 1 See Note R.

was lined by numerous villas, the abode of opulent merchants or tradesmen: for the space within the walls was almost wholly occupied by the garrison stationed there.

The walls of the 'castra' enclosed an extent of eight acres; six imposing towers rose from the northern wall, and promised to bid defiance to time, so imposing and solid was the masonry; but the principal entrance was from the streets of the city, on the western side, where two large circular towers flanked the gateway.

They left their horses at the posting establishment, and passing through the gateway where the sentinel stood in his niche silent and grim, they traversed the fortifications, and found access to the harbour on the southern side, where then existed extensive quays paved with stone, beside which the water was sufficiently deep to permit vessels of large size to lie.

One of these, a richly-ornamented galley, a fine specimen of the best naval architecture of those days, impelled by double banks of oars as well as by its sails, lay ready to receive them; the slaves who toiled at the oar were in their places; the sailors were ready to weigh the anchor and unfurl the sails; the captain stood on his deck to receive the travellers, with great

N

appearance of deference to Pompeianus, who trod the deck with the firm step of one accustomed to command.

Silently the vessel glided down the harbour, reached the open sea, and Pompeianus descended to his cabin, Evanus remaining on the deck, and gazing sadly around him, as if he hardly comprehended his position.

The low coast around Anderida disappeared, the cliffs to the east and west of the bay began to sink, and as the sun declined, its parting beams lingered upon the time-worn summit now known as Beachy Head, until it sank beneath. the bosom of the deep.

Night came upon the waters, and night seemed to close upon the soul of our hapless hero also.