ley. It had not been
expected so early, but was already passing the islands into the great
harbour. It was probably the Antonius, the ship on which the old swallows
had pecked the young ones to death.

Though the waves were running high, even in the sheltered harbour, they
scarcely rocked the massive vessel. An experienced pilot must have
steered it past the shallows and cliffs on the eastern side of the
roadstead, for instead of passing around the island of Antirrhodus as
usual, it kept between the island and the Lochias, steering straight
towards the entrance into the little royal harbour. The pitch-pans on
both sides had been filled with fresh resin and tow to light the way. The
watchers on the shore could now see its outlines distinctly.

It was the Antonius, and yet it was not.

Zeno, the Keeper of the Seal, who was standing beside Iras, wrapped his
cloak closer around his shivering limbs, pointed to it, and whispered,

"Like a woman who leaves her parents' house in the rich array of a bride,
and returns to it an impoverished widow."

Iras drew herself up, and with cutting harshness replied, "Like the sun
veiled by mists, but which will soon shine forth again more radiantly
than ever."

"Spoken from the depths of my soul," said the old courtier eagerly, "so
far as the Queen is concerned. Of course, I did not allude to her
Majesty, but to the ship. You were ill when it left the harbour,
garlanded with flowers and adorned with purple sails. And now! Even this
flickering light shows the wounds and rents. I am the last person whom
you need tell that our sun Cleopatra will soon regain its old radiance,
but at present it is very chilly and cold here by the water's edge in
this stormy air; and when I think of our first moment of meeting--

"Would it were over!" murmured Iras, wrapping herself closer in her
cloak. Then she drew back shivering, for the rattle of the heavy chain,
which was drawn aside from the opening of the harbour, echoed with an
uncanny sound through the silence of the night. A mountain seemed to
weigh upon the watchers' breasts, for the wooden monster which now
entered the little harbour moved forward as slowly and silently as a
spectral ship. It seemed as if life were extinct on the huge galley
usually swarming with a numerous crew; as if a vessel were about to cast
anchor whose sailors had fallen victims to the plague. Nothing was heard
save an occasional word of command, and the signal whistles