The ring of the fort drew him with stronger fascination during that hot
August weather. Standing, or as his headmaster would have said, "mooning"
by the gate, and looking into that enclosed and secret valley, it seemed
to his fancy as if there were a halo about the hill, an aureole that
played like flame around it. One afternoon as he gazed from his station
by the gate the sheer sides and the swelling bulwarks were more than ever
things of enchantment; the green oak ring stood out against the sky as
still and bright as in a picture, and Lucian, in spite of his respect for
the law of trespass, slid over the gate. The farmers and their men were
busy on the uplands with the harvest, and the adventure was irresistible.
At first he stole along by the brook in the shadow of the alders, where
the grass and the flowers of wet meadows grew richly; but as he drew
nearer to the fort, and its height now rose sheer above him, he left all
shelter, and began desperately to mount. There was not a breath of wind;
the sunlight shone down on the bare hillside; the loud chirp of the
grasshoppers was the only sound. It was a steep ascent and grew steeper
as the valley sank away. He turned for a moment, and looked down towards
the stream which now seemed to wind remote between the alders; above the
valley there were small dark figures moving in the cornfield, and now and
again there came the faint echo of a high-pitched voice singing through
the air as on a wire. He was wet with heat; the sweat streamed off his
face, and he could feel it trickling all over his body. But above him the
green bastions rose defiant, and the dark ring of oaks promised coolness.
He pressed on, and higher, and at last began to crawl up the _vallum_, on
hands and knees, grasping the turf and here and there the roots that had
burst through the red earth. And then he lay, panting with deep breaths,
on the summit.

Within the fort it was all dusky and cool and hollow; it was as if one
stood at the bottom of a great cup. Within, the wall seemed higher than