Matho had relapsed into his former melancholy; his legs hung down to the ground, and the grass made a continuous rustling as it beat against his cothurni.
The journey, however, spread itself out without ever coming to an end.
At the extremity of a plain they would always reach a round-shaped plateau; then they would descend again into a valley, and the mountains which seemed to block up the horizon would, in proportion as they were approached, glide as it were from their positions.

From time to time a river would appear amid the verdure of tamarisks to lose itself at the turning of the hills.

Sometimes a huge rock would tower aloft like the prow of a vessel or the pedestal of some vanished colossus.
At regular intervals they met with little quadrangular temples, which served as stations for the pilgrims who repaired to Sicca.

They were closed like tombs.

The Libyans struck great blows upon the doors to have them opened.