“It is all the same,” interrupted Quintus. “Any man is to be regarded as suspicious. Do not lose another minute! Off! towards the Praenestian Way.”
And once more the little procession set forth across bog and briar. Thus they reached a foot-path, which led them past vineyards and at length down to the high-road. The Via Praenestina was little frequented at night, even in fine weather; the main traffic led past the towns of Toleria and Aricia. So they went on, relieved in mind, towards the town, which was still at about an hour’s distance. By degrees the south-westerly gale spent itself and lulled, no longer rushing in wild blasts across the plain, but blowing softly and steadily, like a long-drawn sigh of respite. The black clouds rolled away to the east and north, and the waning moon showed a haze-veiled sickle on the horizon.
Eurymachus as before lay in total silence; and neither Quintus, whose spirit was tossed by a thousand new and strange feelings, nor Blepyrus, who was straining every nerve to conceal his utter exhaustion, uttered a word as they walked on. Only Diphilus and Euterpe exchanged a few words in low tones. The flute-player described her terror; never in her life had she quaked so as on the stone by that fountain. After passing through such perils, she seemed to feel the need of showing all her love and good feeling to her worthy mate, and she even wished to relieve him of the litter straps, as Quintus had relieved Blepyrus, and harness her own shoulders. But Diphilus laughed shortly, and scorned the idea.
“Yes,” he growled good humoredly, “that is a good notion! You want to score your white shoulders with the marks of the strap. Think of business, child! Why, to-morrow you are to play at the house of the captain of the body-guard; you need not spoil your beauty to-night. It was mad enough, that you would not stay at home such a night as this.”
They were now close to the limits of the suburbs of Rome. The buildings on the Esquiline, dimly lighted by the moon, stood out sharper as they approached them against the western sky. Passing by the field, where Philippus, the son of Thrax Barbatus, lay buried, they made their way through the empty streets to the Caelian Hill, and at last reached the back entrance of the house inhabited by Caius Aurelius. The narrow path, which led to it across the hill, was entirely deserted; the houses stood detached, each in the midst of its garden, and shut off from the road by high walls.
Quintus went forward and knocked three times at the postern gate. The bolt was instantly drawn, and Magus, the Gothic slave, came joyfully to meet the strangers.
“Welcome, my lord,” he said in a whisper. “Your arrival relieves us of the greatest anxiety. I have been listening here at the gate these two hours.”
“Yes, yes—” said Quintus equally softly, “we are very late; but it could not be helped. Come, good people, make no noise—go in front, Magus.”
They all went into the garden, and the Goth barred the door again. Then they crossed the xystus[357] to the peristyle, and went along a carpeted corridor to the atrium. Here they were met by Herodianus, who with difficulty suppressed an exclamation of joy.
“At last!” he said, bustling to and fro with delight, like a busy mistress receiving guests. “We had begun to think, that you must have met with some misfortune. Aurelius, my illustrious friend, is in the greatest anxiety. But softly, for pity’s sake softly! everyone is sound asleep, and foresight is the mother of prudence.”