Ere the sun had passed the meridian more than an hour, all who had been sent had returned, and many and curious were the objects which now surrounded that sad group by the side of the cemetery. A number of mules and horses were there; the black charger which had carried Paulinus in his last victory over the Alani, and which had never been ridden since by any one but himself; the white horses which drew the low carriage called pilentum, wherein Flavia was accustomed to drive along the margin of the sea; litters with their silver feet, and covered chairs of gold and ivory; rich caskets; leathern bags of gold and silver coin; and large quantities of silks and fine linens (then become general, but still considered costly,) made up into packages of convenient sizes for carrying on the shoulders of the slaves, or placing on the beasts of burden, together with cups and vases of gold, silver, and precious stones; and slaves of all complexions and of every different feature. Everything, in short, which was usually collected in a wealthy and powerful Roman house, at that luxurious and extravagant period, was there scattered round in glittering profusion, giving that group the appearance of some caravan from Ophir or from Tyre reposing on its journey. Some confusion and some delay took place, though everything was arranged as quickly as possible, while Flavia looked on in calm sadness, and Theodore gazed upon the scene with burning indignation unquenched by grief, making his lip still quiver and his bright eye flash.
At length all was prepared, and, with a few words of heartfelt thanks to Marcian, the lady placed herself with Ildica in one of the lectulæ or litters, Eudochia and her chief attendant reclined in another. Ammian sprang upon a small Thracian horse, and Theodore mounted his father's charger. The noble beast, wild with unwearied strength, reared high and snorted fiercely, as he felt the light weight of the young Roman; but Theodore with skill and power soon curbed him to his will, and patted his proud neck, while a tear, given to the memory of him who was gone, wetted his eyelids. The whole party then moved on, winding back again along the path which they had trodden that very morning.
Their way lay over the hills, and for an hour they moved on, ascending gently, but without stopping, till at length, on the highest spot of the inferior acclivity, which lies at the foot of the higher mountains, Flavia bade the bearers stop, and gazed out of the litter upon the scene which she was quitting perhaps for ever. There it lay, robed in the same splendid sunshine which had adorned it on the preceding day. To the eyes which looked upon it not a change was to be seen. The palace, the village, the distant town of Salona, the beautiful bay, the golden islands which are scattered along the coast, the liquid sapphire in which they seemed to float, were all sleeping beneath the wanderers' glance in the drowsy heat of midday, looking calm and tranquil, as if nature herself imitated the hypocrisy of man, and covered with deceitful smiles the desolation which reigned within her bosom. The measured round of the sun had scarcely been accomplished, since those who now stood upon the hill-top, fugitives from their dear domestic hearths, had met together after separation, and had gazed over that same lovely prospect from the clump of cypresses which now lay beneath their eyes. Scarcely had one round of the sun been accomplished since, standing there, they had gazed upon that pageant-like scene of beauty, and had felt all its fair features reflected from the clear bright mirror of the happy heart. Scarcely had one round been accomplished since every splendid object that the eye could find, and every sweet sound that the ear could catch, in a spot, and a moment when all was music and brightness, had seemed but an image, a type, a prophecy of joys, and happiness, and successes yet to come; and yet in that brief space an earthquake had rent and torn that enchanted land, and had scattered ruin, desolation, and death over its fair calm face: in that brief space, from the bosoms of those who gazed upon it had been torn the bright joys of youth and inexperience; had been scattered the dear hopes and warm imaginings of innocent expectation; had been riven one of the dearest ties of human existence, the great band of the loving and the loved; for not one in that sad family but felt that the unjust fate of Paulinus had given a chilly coldness to their hearts--no, not one from the youngest to the oldest. The young felt that the fresh bloom was gone for ever from the Hesperian fruit; the elder that the cropped flower of hope, which had again been beginning to blossom, had been once more crushed down, and never could bloom again.
Between their fate and the scene they gazed upon there seemed some fanciful affinity; each felt it, each lingered with fond regret to gather into one glance all the thousand lovely and beloved sights; each sighed as they gazed and thought of the "For ever!" and at length, even from Flavia's eyes, broke forth the long-repressed tears.
The slaves stood round and sympathized with those who mourned. Many a dark eye and many a rough cheek was moistened with the drops of kindly feeling, till at length the lady wiped her tears away, and, waving her hand towards the valleys on the other side, said, "Let us go on!"
Again they began to move, when the voices of two slaves broke forth in a mournful song, which they had probably often sung in their own remote land.
SLAVE'S SONG.
I.
"We leave ye behind us, sweet things of the earth;
Our life's but a race to the death from the birth;