her, matters go more slowly, even with the young. However,
as I said, we are past the crisis."

"God be praised!" said Andreas. "Such news makes me young again. I could
run like a boy." They now entered the well-kept gardens which lay behind
Zeno's house. Noble clumps of tall old trees rose above the green grass
plots and splendid shrubs. Round a dancing fountain were carefully kept
beds of beautiful flowers. The garden ended at a palm-grove, which
cast its shade on Zeno's little private place of worship--an open
plot inclosed by tamarisk hedges like walls. The little villa in which
Melissa lay was in a bower of verdure, and the veranda with the wide
door through which the bed of the sufferer had been carried in, stood
open in the cool evening to the garden, the palm-grove, and the place of
worship with its garland, as it were, of fragile tamarisk boughs.

Agatha was keeping watch by Melissa; but as the last of the figures,
great and small, who could be seen moving across the garden, all in
the same direction, disappeared behind the tamarisk screen, the young
Christian looked lovingly down at her friend's pale and all too delicate
face, touched her forehead lightly with her lips, and whispered to the
sleeper, as though she could hear her voice:

"I am only going to pray for you and your brother."

And she went out.

A few moments later the brazen gong was heard--muffled out of regard for
the sick--which announced the hour of prayer to the little congregation.
It had sounded every evening without disturbing the sufferer, but
to-night it roused her from her slumbers.

She looked about her in bewilderment and tried to rise, but she was too
weak to lift herself. Terror, blood, Diodoros wounded, Andreas, the ass
on which she had ridden that night, were the images which first crowded
on her awakening spirit in bewildering confusion. She had heard that
piercing ring of smitten brass in the Serapeum. Was she still there? Had
she only dreamed of that night-ride with her wounded lover? Perhaps she
had lost consciousness in the mystic chambers, and the clang of the gong
had roused her.

And she shuddered. In her terror she dared not open her eyes for fear
of seeing on all hands the hideous images on the walls and ceiling.
Merciful gods! If her flight from the Serapeum and the rescue of
Diodoros by Andreas had really been but a dream, then the door might
open at any moment, and the Egyptian Zminis or his men might come in to