His sensitive organism, so widely different from that of the big and burly Burrhus, excited contempt rather than pity, and as it was a drag upon their movements to have to carry a litter with a wounded man, Burrhus determined to embark his troop on board two Roman galleys which were lying in the port of Marseilles, and perform the rest of the journey by water. This plan was hailed gladly by the ladies of the party, and especially by Hyacintha, who could sit continually by her brother, as he lay on the deck of the galley, and talk to him, or be silent, as he liked; but Casca was gloomy and sad, and lamented that the spear of the wild warrior who had overpowered him had not made an end of him altogether. The galley was lying one evening off the coast of that part of southern France and northern Italy we know as the Riviera. Beyond the rugged outline of the rocky range, lofty mountains rose--the peaks of eternal snow, the white-crowned line of the Alpes Maritimes. The evening was fair and calm, and the sails of the galley hung idly in the gentle breeze. Hyacintha’s soul was filled with the beauty before her, and Casca’s large mournful eyes were turned towards the snowy peaks, now blushing rosy-red with the last kiss of the setting sun. “That,” Casca said, “looks like the city Ebba murmured about. I never could make out where it was, nor how it was to be reached. Poor Ebba!” he repeated. “I wonder if she is dead, like Alban, and passed hence? and if so, whither?” Hyacintha did not reply. She was looking down upon the sapphire water which rippled against the low, cumbrous vessel, and her eyes were scanning a dark object which floated slowly past. “See, Casca!” she said, “see! There are dead women in that boat, drifting whither?” “As we drift,” said the boy, raising himself on his elbow, “as we drift. But I heard some one say that the people of these parts place their dead that they love best in boats, that they may reach Arles--the holy city--with money to pay for their burial.” Hyacintha did not answer, but continued to gaze down upon the boat till it was carried beyond her sight. Death everywhere, the child thought. Death by sword, and fire, and tempest, and sickness. Death! and she had heard Ebba say something about One who was the Life. Life was so beautiful, and so sweet, and yet the shadow of death was everywhere. “I shall be beyond the sights and sounds of woe and trouble in the temple,” she thought. “I shall have so many beautiful things about me, and I shall forget all that is dark and dreadful.” As the sun went down, a cool brisk breeze sprang up, and the little convoy, of which the ship in which the brother and sister were sailing was the middle one, began to dance merrily on the water. The galley on board of which were Burrhus and the chief officers of the maniple was the scene of feasting and merriment. There were sounds of music, and of voices singing, and nothing seemed to depress or sadden the rest of the party.