ht well require his personal care; and
Marius, relieved a little by his preparations for travelling from a
certain over-tension [159] of spirit in which he had lived of late, was
presently on his way, to await introduction to Aurelius, on his
expected return home, after a first success, illusive enough as it was
soon to appear, against the invaders from beyond the Danube.

The opening stage of his journey, through the firm, golden weather, for
which he had lingered three days beyond the appointed time of
starting--days brown with the first rains of autumn--brought him, by
the byways among the lower slopes of the Apennines of Luna, to the town
of Luca, a station on the Cassian Way; travelling so far mainly on
foot, while the baggage followed under the care of his attendants. He
wore a broad felt hat, in fashion not unlike a more modern pilgrim's,
the neat head projecting from the collar of his gray paenula, or
travelling mantle, sewed closely together over the breast, but with its
two sides folded up upon the shoulders, to leave the arms free in
walking, and was altogether so trim and fresh, that, as he climbed the
hill from Pisa, by the long steep lane through the olive-yards, and
turned to gaze where he could just discern the cypresses of the old
school garden, like two black lines down the yellow walls, a little
child took possession of his hand, and, looking up at him with entire
confidence, paced on bravely at his side, for the mere pleasure of his
company, to the spot where the road declined again [160] into the
valley beyond. From this point, leaving the servants behind, he
surrendered himself, a willing subject, as he walked, to the
impressions of the road, and was almost surprised, both at the
suddenness with which evening came on, and the distance from his old
home at which it found him.

And at the little town of Luca, he felt that indescribable sense of a
welcoming in the mere outward appearance of things, which seems to mark
out certain places for the special purpose of evening rest, and gives
them always a peculiar amiability in retrospect. Under the deepening
twilight, the rough-tiled roofs seem to huddle together side by side,
like one continuous shelter over the whole township, spread low and
broad above the snug sleeping-rooms within; and the place one sees for
the first time, and must tarry in but for a night, breathes the very
spirit of home. The cottagers lingered at their doors for a few
minute