The wind was chasing in from the bosom of Adria, and driving the fleeting mists up the little valley.

The hills were springing out of the gloom, the thrushes were swinging in the boughs overhead, and pouring out their morning song.
Out from the camp the bugles were calling the soldiers for the march; the baggage trains were rumbling over the bridge.

But still below on the marge lingered the solitary figure; now walking, now motionless, now silent, now speaking in indistinct monologue.

Drusus overheard only an occasional word, "Pompeius, poor tool of knaves! I pity him! I must show mercy to Cato if I can! Sulla is not to be imitated! The Republic is fallen; what I put in its place must not fall." Then, after a long pause, "So this was to be my end in life--to destroy the Commonwealth; what is destined, is destined!" And a moment later Drusus saw the general coming up the embankment.
"We shall find horses, I think, a little way over the bridge," said Caesar; "the sun is nearly risen.

It is nine miles to Ariminum; there we can find refreshment." The Imperator's brow was clear, his step elastic, the fatigues of the night seemed to have only added to his vigorous good humour.