be done at once, for the
immense building of the temple already cast long shadows. Determined to
force herself to look out, she walked quickly to the eastern window and
gazed below. But it was some moments before she had the fortitude to
distinguish one form from another; they melted before her reluctant eyes
into one repulsive mass.

At last she succeeded in looking more calmly and critically.

Not heaped on one another as on the racecourse, hundreds of Caracalla's
victims lay scattered separately over the open square as far as the
entrance to the street of Hermes. Here lay an old man with a thick beard,
probably a Syrian or a Jew; there, his dress betraying him, a seaman; and
farther on-no, she could not be mistaken--the youthful corpse that lay so
motionless just beneath the window was that of Myrtilos, a friend of
Philip, and, like him, a member of the Museum.

In a fresh fit of terror she was going to flee again into her dreadful
hiding-place, when she caught sight of a figure leaning against the basin
of the beautiful marble fountain just in front of the eastern side-door
of the Serapeum, and immediately below her. The figure moved, and could
therefore only be wounded, not dead; and round the head was bound a white
cloth, reminding her of her beloved, and thereby attracting her
attention. The youth moved again, turning his face upward, and with a low
cry she leaned farther forward and gazed and gazed, unmindful of the
danger of being seen and falling a victim to the tyrant's fury. The
wounded, living man-there, he had moved again--was no other than
Diodoros, her lover!

Till the last glimmer of light disappeared she stood at the window with
bated breath, and eyes fixed upon him. No faintest movement of his
escaped her, and at each one, trembling with awakening hope, she thanked
Heaven and prayed for his rescue. At length the growing darkness hid him
from her sight. With every instant the night deepened, and without
thinking, without stopping to reflect--driven on by one absorbing
thought--she felt her way back to her couch, beside which stood the lamp
and fire-stick, and lighted the wick; then, inspired with new courage at
the thought of rescuing her lover from death, she considered for a moment
what had best be done.

It was easy for her to get out. She had a little money with her; on her
peplos she wore a clasp that had once belonged to her mother, with two
gems in it from her father's hand, and on her rou