Drusus stepped forward.

At last! He pushed carefully through the thicket, making only a little noise, and glanced across the brook.
There were ferns all around the cypress.

Ivies twined about its trunk.
On the bank the green turf looked dry, but cool.

Just under the tree the brook broke into a miniature cascade, and went rippling down in a score of pygmy, sparkling waterfalls.

On a tiny promontory a marble nymph, a fine bit of Greek sculpture, was pouring, without respite, from a water-urn into the gurgling flood.