Читать книгу Aleph, the Chaldean; or, the Messiah as Seen from Alexandria - E. F. Burr - Страница 11

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Whether Cimon and Aleph slept the sleep of the just we must leave to be settled in the progress of the narrative. I am, I again confess, prepossessed in their favor. At any rate, they slept so soundly that most of the guests of the khan had gone off on their various affairs before the two friends made their appearance.

Perhaps, too, they were delayed by a cause that did not delay many of their fellow-guests—morning worship. It seems that they acknowledged Jehovah and a revelation from him; and it is to be presumed that such people began their day in the reasonable and old-fashioned way. When have devout believers not acted on the principle that prayer and provender hinder no man’s journey? Besides, they breakfasted in their own room; whereas most inmates of the khan patronized the cook shops that abounded in the neighborhood.

After the meal they went out and seated themselves on the bench they had occupied the evening before.

“The first thing to be done,” said Cimon, “is to find a suitable banker and open an account with him for such Alexandrian funds as we may need. As one of our objects requires that we be unknown, and especially that our connection with your father should not reach the ears of Malus, we cannot use our draft on him except in case of absolute necessity. We must depend on the jewels. And they are too valuable to be trusted to any but the best hands. If the Jewish family that held the alabarchate when I was here last is still in business, this would be the one to apply to. They were as noted for their integrity as for their immense wealth and influence at Rome. I will go and ask our deputy-host whether they have now any representative in Alexandria.”

After a short absence the Greek returned with two canes in his hand, and with the information that the old banking-house was flourishing more than ever in the person of Alexander, the son of the old Alabarch; that the son had succeeded to all his father’s honors and more than his father’s wealth; and that, as the imperial banker, his influence at Rome was supposed to be even greater than among his own people for whom he had lately enriched the nine gates of the temple at Jerusalem with gold plates of enormous value. It was generally understood in the city that he had lately prevented certain oppressive measures against the Jews of Antioch by threatening to withhold a loan. Some went so far as to tell how many millions of sesterces each minute brought him, and even supposed that he had discovered the art of turning base metals into gold.

“I am sorry that we did not ask Seti about the present Alabarch,” said Cimon; “but I have no doubt from what I know of the family that he is the person to whom we should apply.”

“I have also learned two other facts,” he continued. “One is that the greatest galley in all the three harbors is Malus himself, and that the Cretan of last night is one of several small tenders that wait on the great ship and do its meaner work—which means that the oversight of the harbors and of the import trade has mainly fallen into the hands of Malus and his agents, and that the fear of him is on all small dealers, whom he could easily crush, especially as he is on the best of terms with the Roman authorities of the city. The other fact is that a Roman soldier was at the khan-office last night to inquire whether two men (describing us) were staying here. The deputy said that he managed not to enlighten the man much—as it was always safe to assume that what a Roman wanted to know ought not to be known.”

“Would it not be well for us,” said the young man, “to make some changes in our dress so as to embarrass such inquiries?... I am glad to see that you have brought in your hand something to help us discourage unpleasant recognitions,” he added with a smile and a glance at the canes. “They have a tough and serviceable look.”

“They certainly may be useful on occasion. But every gentleman in Alexandria is in the habit of carrying a cane; for us to do the same will help ward off notice as well as assault. Dogs and donkeys abound; and some of them walk on two legs. A stout stick, with your skill at fence and thrust, will be almost as good as a sword.... As to making some changes in dress, I think your suggestion a good one. I also think that it would be well for you, at least, to dress somewhat more richly to-day, inasmuch as you must be the one to do our business with the banker. Till one is known appearance goes far. Meanwhile I will brush up my knowledge of the city and its people. We will meet here late in the day.”

Cimon then produced his tablets and drew on them a rough plan of the city—one central street, two hundred feet broad, running between the lake and the sea from the gate of the Moon to the gate of the Sun, and called Emporium Street: this crossed in the middle at right angles by another street of similar breadth, but of much less length, called the street of Canopus, ending on the west at the gate of the Necropolis, and on the east at the gate of Canopus: these two main streets cut at right angles by all the rest: here, in the south-east, the Jews’ quarter, occupying two of the five divisions of the city: there, north of this quarter and extending to the two harbors Eunostus and Kibotus, and including all the frontage on these harbors called Bruchium, the Greek and Roman quarters. These latter also include a narrow section of the city lying along the whole length of Emporium Street on the west. Just west of this section is Rachotis or the Egyptian quarter, in the southern part of which, on the highest ground in the city, stands the Serapeum, the famous temple of Jupiter Serapis.

“Entering at the gate of the Moon,” continued Cimon, “you are to pass up Emporium Street till you come to the street of Canopus: here turn to your right, and, after a short walk, you will find by inquiry the place of the great banker.”

Surely, the way was so plain that no guide would be needed. So, after making some changes in his dress, Aleph took his cane and set forth.

By this time the whole Alexandrian world, the most industrious and bustling world known in ancient times, was in full movement. Such tides of men surging from sea to lake and from lake to sea—such tides of donkeys and horses and camels going and coming—such a menagerie and roar of sounds from the tramp of thousands, the shrill calls of traders hawking their wares, the cries of the animals and their drivers, the infinite clatter from the tools of artisans of every name pouring out from the open shops far and near! Slowly on went the young man, with eyes full of grave interest, along the splendid thoroughfare for two miles, till he came to the ornate square, half a league in circumference, from the centre of which one could, without changing his place, see the lake on the south and the harbors with their dividing mole (Heptastadium) and its Pharos on the north, as well as the sands of the desert at both ends of the street of Canopus. Turning down this street to the east under one of the magnificent colonnades that skirted it on either hand, he noticed as he advanced not only that the leading places of business were held by Jews (a fact that he had noticed on the other street), but that the farther he went the more people he saw with Jewish features.

Before he had gone very far, two young men with caps and black gowns, something like the present English university dress, hurried by him; one saying to the other as they passed:

“The earlier at the Alabarch’s the better. First come, first served, you know.”

Aleph quickened his pace so as to keep near them. They soon came to what seemed a fortress rather than a private dwelling or place of business—solid stone, no windows on the first story, length on the street several times that of an ordinary dwelling. Solidity and strength rather than show was the impression given—no elaborate carvings, no pillars of porphyry and cornelian, but plain, massive, mob-defying marble; in short, an architectural safe. This structure was on a corner. Turning the corner, the young men came by a few steps to a small door. Aleph followed closely; and when the door opened to the others, he entered with them and was ushered into a reception-room close by, where many others were already waiting their turn to be called into the presence of the financial magnate.

Soon a servant presented on a silver salver tablets to the new-comers, on which each should write his name. When the tablets came to Aleph he noticed that the names of the two young men who had just written were P. Cornelius, Serapeum, and Q. Metellus, Museum. What did he write? After a moment’s hesitation he wrote Aleph, the Chaldean, khan near the gate of the Moon.

There were several academic uniforms in the room (each with a conspicuous gold badge in front) that seemed well acquainted with one another, and not disposed to lose the time of waiting, possibly long, in silence. Some talked together with great enthusiasm of a boat-race that had come off the day before on the lake: others discussed the merits of various recent performances in the palæstra, especially those of a certain noted athlete and trainer who had just arrived from Rome: two agreed that there was nothing worth living for but the noble art of fencing, and that the greatest living master of the art was one Draco of Rhodes, of whom they were taking lessons. A knot of dudes were comparing breast-pins and finger-rings and experiences at the last fashionable party; or boasting of the successful tricks they had played on the lecturers at the Museum, and of how they managed to evade many of the lectures and delude their parents and other friends at home with the idea that they were hard at work digging into all the sciences and philosophies and living like hermits on crusts and water. Some were ready to burst with merriment over some practical jokes they had played on some citizen or new-comer at the Museum; or at the way in which they had baffled the police in a midnight brawl.

The two students who came in with Aleph seemed better to deserve the name. They had just come from a lecture by Philo, a brother of the Alabarch; and found much to commend in his ingenious attempts to Hellenize the Hebrew writers or to Hebraize the Greek—they were uncertain which way to put it. They agreed that he was a very broad man and ready to do justice to great men of other nationality than his own. They were also hearing lectures on astronomy and Hipparchus in the observatory rooms at the Serapeum, as well as on the physics and metaphysics of Aristotle at the Museum.

Aleph was not sorry to have this little insight into student life in Alexandria; and, considering the number of persons in the room on his arrival, he was expecting to have a still longer time to observe and listen, when, to his surprise and apparently to that of others around, a special servant came to conduct him to the banker.

After passing through a large room occupied by many persons busy at desks, and crossing a broad passage from which rose a flight of marble steps, they came to a small room plainly furnished, in which were seated two men. What was his surprise to recognize in one of them the Egyptian Seti! The pleasure he felt sprang at once to his face, as he advanced with a warm but modest greeting which the aged man cordially reciprocated, and then presented him to the Alabarch as “the young man of whom we have been speaking.”

Alexander was a Jew to the slightest inspection. But his features though national were royally so, and might have belonged to Solomon. Their whole expression bespoke one accustomed to great thoughts and plans; while yet a certain watchfulness, like distant pickets about a royal encampment, looked out from far back in his frank and friendly eyes as of one who knows that all sorts of characters will come to a banker, and who knows how to protect himself on occasion. His manners were polished and courtly—as might have been expected in one who dealt only with the highest and most cultured classes, and was even a companion of princes. In watching him one felt sure that the man was larger than his wealth, however large that might be. He was still in the prime of life, and without a thread of silver in his dark hair and beard.

Alexander received the young man graciously, though with wide-open, all-observing eyes.

“I happened,” said the Egyptian to Aleph, “to be with my son when your name was brought in; and, though you gave me no name yesterday, I fancied that the Chaldean was the friend I have occasion to remember, and that his first business would naturally be with a banker. I had just finished explaining how we met when you came in.”

“That I am as glad as surprised,” returned the young man, “to see you here and in such a relation, you doubtless have already discovered. Perhaps I am the more glad because my business with this gentleman is such as may call for a word of friendly prepossession in my favor from one who is known here. For the present I am compelled to remain unknown. I can only appear as Aleph, the Chaldean, in company with his preceptor and friend, Cimon the Athenian. So I have no papers to present on which to ask an open account for him and myself, within certain limits, with a banker. I have only certain jewels to place in his hands, of the value of which he must judge”—and he drew from the bosom of his tunic a small box which he opened and handed to Alexander.

The banker was surprised. In all his wide experience he had never fallen in with such brilliants—so large, so beautifully and variously hued, with such soft and mystic fires playing about them and raying out from their inmost depths. A pearl, a ruby, a sapphire, and a diamond—that was all; but, as Alexander turned the box this way and that, there flashed out upon him such lovely lights as he had never seen in the imperial treasury at Rome, enriched as it was with the regalia of many nations.

After carefully taking out each gem and examining it on all sides, and then as carefully replacing it in its luxurious bed, Alexander at length fetched a long breath and slowly said:

“If any common stranger had brought me these remarkable jewels I should have demanded to know his name and station—in short, that he is the rightful owner of such a treasure. This would only be common prudence. But I happen to have an uncommon father-in-law, who has a notion that he has a gift of reading character in faces and bearing, and who thinks so favorably of yours that he might quarrel with me if I should deal with you on strictly business principles. I should be sorry to have him do that. Besides, to tell the truth, I have something of his weakness for a good face and figure, and whatever else that indescribable something about you is that demands confidence. So I think I will venture”—and he threw an arch look and smile at Seti.

And he drew two sheets of papyrus toward himself. After writing for some time, he read over to himself carefully what he had written, and then handed the sheet to Aleph, saying, “Is this satisfactory?”

The young man read a full description of the box and its contents; an acknowledgment of the receipt of it as basis for credit to the extent of 200,000 aurei or staters, to be drawn upon at pleasure in large or small sums; also a promise to restore the jewels on repayment of sums advanced with a moderate interest.

Aleph pronounced the paper entirely satisfactory, and far more favorable than he had any reason to expect—adding, however, that he had no idea of making any large drafts on the sum pledged; as one of the objects he had in view in Alexandria would compel him to live in a very quiet and inexpensive way, even if it were not a matter of choice.

Alexander then proceeded to copy the document, and to affix his signature and seal to it and to the copy. He retained one and gave the other to Aleph, with a parcel of small slips of papyrus each already signed by himself, but otherwise blank, saying:

“Whenever you wish current money, fill in one of these with the sum desired, in your own handwriting and with your name as given to-day, and present it in the room through which you passed in coming here.... Now I will put this treasure where it will be somewhat safer than it was when walking the streets of Alexandria under the protection of a cane”—and he rose and took the box and his copy of the paper he had just executed to carry them into an adjoining room whose door, massive with iron, proclaimed the very citadel of the financial stronghold.

“Will you add this small parcel of valuable documents to the box?” said Aleph, as he again produced from the bosom of his tunic an elaborately tied and sealed parcel.

Alexander had hardly resumed his seat, after a few moments’ absence, when a light step was heard descending the stairs in the neighboring passage, the door softly opened a little, then wider, and after a moment a young lady advanced into the room. Seti and Aleph were so seated that they could not well be seen from the door; and the maiden seeing none but Alexander went hastily up to him, put her hand on his shoulder, kissed his forehead, and said:

“Father, word has just been brought me that my poor nurse Miriam, who has come back to the city sick, is now dying, and wants to see me. May I take a servant with me and go? In the absence of my mother and brothers, I thought I had better come directly to you, as I may need to be gone for some time, and you would be alarmed at my prolonged absence.”

“Certainly I would have been. Take two servants: then you can send one of them back for anything that may be needed. Let the woman have every possible help and comfort. But, Rachel, you do not notice your grandfather!”—nodding his head toward Seti, who had risen and was coming toward her.

Rachel turned suddenly, with a faint exclamation of surprise, and sprang into the open arms of the Egyptian, exclaiming:

“When did you come? I thought you were still in Upper Egypt. How glad I am to see you, my dear grandfather—as glad as one can be whose foster-mother lies dying!”

“I will not keep you from her—only to answer your question by saying that I reached the city safely last evening, thanks to a young friend of mine. No particulars at present. Perhaps I will step in at Miriam’s on my way home (I accidentally heard of her whereabouts this morning), and see if the leech has done his best, and, if not, whether old Egypt can do better.”

“Do, grandfather,” she pleaded, “and come soon: for I verily believe that the priest Seti knows more of the healing art than all the rest of Alexandria—the daughters of my people not excepted.”

As she glided toward the door her eye rested for a moment with a startled look on Aleph. He had till now been unobserved. The tall form of Seti had been interposed. She hesitated a moment, as if to make sure that the young man was not some one whom she ought to recognize, and then hastened away.

Ah, those great, lovely eyes! It was but a second that their inquiring look rested on him; but they at once made him forget every other feature. He had not failed to notice her faultless figure, the queenly carriage of her head, the easy grace and even majesty of her every movement; and when she turned to greet Seti he had had full view of an exquisite face, hesitating between girlhood and womanhood—a face wonderfully luminous with a certain spiritual and lofty loveliness—but the moment her eyes shot their fires into his, all previous impressions vanished, and he saw nothing but eyes, eyes. In talking over the events of the day with Cimon at the khan in the evening, he could not, for the life of him, remember distinctly whether she was tall or short, dark or brown-haired, light-complexioned or otherwise—he could only remember the glorious eyes. But the young man was in Alexandria for a purpose, and a great one: and what had he to do with a maiden’s haunting eyes? Just nothing at all. So he turned his own eyes to the business in hand: and the effulgent twin stars that had just risen above his horizon, contrary to the order of Nature, silently sank back again and disappeared—almost.

He rose to take leave. But Alexander said, Wait a little, and touched a string. A servant appeared, to whom he gave some directions in a low voice. When he had dismissed the man, he said that he had just sent to notify those in waiting that no more business would be done to-day. He added that he usually closed business earlier on the sixth day of the week out of regard to the sacred seventh, and that so he had some leisure for conversation; if the young man would resume his seat.

“Speaking of our Sabbath,” continued he; “reminds me that I ought to invite you to our place of worship for to-morrow: for I learn that you are not a worshipper of Belus?”

“Hardly,” said Aleph with a smile.

“Nor a fire-worshipper?”

“By no means.”

“Nor a worshipper of the sun, moon and stars?”

“I was not so taught,” emphatically.

“But you were taught to worship the One God who made the heavens and the earth, and who spake by Moses and our other prophets?”

“Even so: our family religion for generations has been that of the Hebrews—as being the most credible and satisfactory within our knowledge.”

“Our common friend here could not tell me quite as much as this,” said Alexander with a gratified look, “but I am glad to hear it, and hope to learn at some future time how your family came into possession of our faith. You observe our sacred day?”

“I do, as does also my companion. Though a Greek by birth, he is a Hebrew in religion. We will be pleased to accept your invitation for to-morrow. Where shall we find your place of worship?”

“We Jews are 300,000 strong. So there are several synagogues in the city; but two of these are much larger than the rest, and stand for two different schools of doctrine among us. The one with which I am connected is the Diapleuston and is on the street of Canopus, not far from here. The other is on Emporium Street, and is not so large as ours, but still has many substantial adherents, of whom Malus, our chief shipping merchant, is the most prominent. Indeed, I think that he is now the chief ruler of his synagogue.”

“May I ask,” inquired Aleph, “what the doctrinal difference between the two synagogues is?”

“The chief difference,” answered Alexander, “relates to the degree of authority to be allowed to our Sacred Books. We of the Diapleuston say that their authority is final on all matters of which they speak—that their writers were so guided and guarded by Jehovah in composing them that they were at first perfectly free from mistake of all sorts: while the other school maintain that, while properly enough said to be of divine origin, our Scriptures have always been more or less mistaken in their teachings and need to be sifted by learned men.”

“Do these men offer any criterion by which one may separate the reliable from the unreliable?”

“They do not agree on any. One says that all important Scripture statements are reliable; another tells us that all are reliable, save in the domains of history and science; another excludes as unreliable all but positively religious statements.”

“Of course they differ widely as to what are important or strictly religious matters.”

“Certainly. Whatever statements are unsatisfactory to a man for any reason he is apt to think of small consequence.”

“And I should suppose the other test might be equally elusive. Is there not room for considerable difference of opinion as to what deserve to be called moral and religious statements?”

“So it seems: and, as a matter of fact, Malus and his synagogue agree only in discrediting those parts of the Scriptures that are in the narrative form and a large part of the remainder. Especially are they prepared to admit the possibility of mistake to almost any extent in Moses and the earlier Scripture writers. Not a few deny that we have any Moses. What passes under the ancient name is really the invention of recent times.”

“This is the result I should expect. One seems to be left at liberty to take as much or little of the Scriptures as suits him: for if parts of them are unreliable, and we have no sure way of determining where these parts are, we will be likely to locate them where our prejudices and inclinations say. The larger part of the Book may easily be considered secular or unimportant by one who wishes as much.”

“Very true,” said Alexander; “and see what the other synagogue have actually come to! Some reject the doctrine of angels, some that of a human soul distinct from the body, some that of personal responsibility, and nearly all that of miracles and all other forms of supernaturalism in history, as well as that of a future state of settled character and destiny for men. And so on. Really, between them all, there is very little of the sacred Book left. The sum of their doubts and denials would cover almost the whole of it. What is left is the brief revelation that Malus, the Sadducee, uses. His maxim is to discard what anybody doubts.”

“This seems to me a sad state of things,” said Aleph, fetching a long breath that was almost a sigh. “It would be almost unimaginable in the house of my fathers. Practically these people are without a revelation. The only revelation to each is that bundle of guesses and notions which he calls his knowledge or judgments: and there are about as many different revelations of this sort as there are men; and, to my thinking, they are all about equally worthless. It is sad that circumcised people should hold such uncircumcised notions.”

“A sad state of things, indeed,” consented Alexander, “but we may console ourselves with the fact that this sad sort of people are a minority and a small one, and have been quite unknown among our people till quite recent times. I trust they will soon become unknown again. When the Messiah, whom we are daily looking for, comes and, accrediting himself by signs and wonders, declares that not one jot or tittle of the law shall fail, even Malus will have a revelation that is worth the having.”

“May He come quickly!” said the young man devoutly.

Alexander looked intently for a moment on the kindling and abstracted face before him, and then as devoutly said Amen.

During this conversation Seti maintained an unbroken silence—his arms folded, his face impassive, but his eyes as watchful as eagles’. He seemed to be hearing as well as seeing with those ancient eyes of his that never once left the face of Aleph.

They both rose at the same time—Seti saying that he would walk along with the young man and point out the Diapleuston in passing.

The Alabarch courteously escorted them through the now vacant rooms to the door; saying to Aleph, as he parted, “Remember—at the third hour to-morrow. Come half an hour earlier.”

Turning into the street of Canopus, and going westward under the colonnade, they soon came to a corner on which stood an imposing structure of white marble. As Aleph glanced down the side street he saw that the length of the structure was immense: as he passed to the front he saw that its breadth was nearly as great. A central part raised on a lofty pediment, surmounted by a gilded dome, and supported in front and on either hand by immense monolith columns, was surrounded on all visible sides at a little distance by low marble cloisters—save where a broad flight of steps led up from the street to the great doors. From the wide platform at the top the great columns rose in elaborately wrought clusters, each supporting an ornate capital, architrave, frieze, and cornice; while, behind, the whole front was alive with spirited sculpture in relief of the Feast of Tabernacles.

I must not forget to add that at one angle the low cloisters swelled into a graceful and lofty tower that ended in a parapet.

“From behind that parapet,” said Seti, pointing, “are sounded the seventy silver trumpets that summon the Jews to their worship; for here is the Diapleuston to which you have been invited.”

They passed on to another crossing.

“Let us turn down this street,” said the Egyptian. “It is less crowded than the thoroughfare, and equally direct for both of us, as I learn that you are staying for the present near where we landed yesterday. Besides, I wish to stop for a few moments with the sick woman. I am afraid of these Alexandrian leeches. Once in every five or ten years they get a new fashion of treating diseases and call it science.”

They turned south and soon came to a humble house, where Seti knocked. The door was opened by a shiftless looking Greek who, on request, pointed to a door within which the sick woman could be found. On entering, they found her on a rude bed, supported almost in a sitting posture by the daughter of Alexander, who sat behind her. She was a woman of middle age, very emaciated, eyes closed, lips parted, chest laboriously heaving, apparently unconscious.

“Oh, grandfather, I feared you would not come,” exclaimed the maiden in a subdued voice, “feared you would be too late,—I am afraid you are too late. The leech says that nothing more can be done”—and the tears dropped fast from the lovely eyes.

The rich dress worn at home had been exchanged for one exceedingly plain and suited to her present sad and humble surroundings. But the change did not detract from her superb loveliness. On the contrary, the exquisite graces of feature and figure became all the more apparent in the absence of the distractions of extrinsic ornament; and a new light born of a heavenly pity and self-forgetfulness was shining in her face.

Without replying to her words, Seti advanced to a casement and door, and threw them widely open on a small open court.

“But the leech, grandfather, said that the fresh air must be excluded.”

“Did he bring this?” said the Egyptian, taking up from the bed a partly unrolled manuscript. He read aloud: “The Psalms of David translated by the Seventy.”

“That is mine,” said Rachel. “I brought it with me, and have read from it to Miriam while she could listen. It was her only comfort, besides prayer.”

“What have you learned about her case?”

“You know that she left us two years ago to marry a man whom we could not approve: and until yesterday we did not know what had become of her. Then I had a message from her husband, who is a Greek, that she was sick at this place. I went to her at once and found her very weak and low with this fever; and gathered from her with great difficulty that she had led a life of hardship and exposure since leaving us, had sometimes been in the extreme of want, but was ashamed to make her situation known to us after having rejected our counsel. So she had gradually been worn down by want and disappointment until this fever seized on her and found an easy victim”—and the fair head drooped with a sigh to the hot forehead that rested against her shoulder.

“Has she asked for nothing?” inquired Seti.

“Not of late. When I first came she wanted water, and asked for it almost constantly. But the leech said she must not have it. It would chill her and finally make the fever worse. He would only allow her lips to be moistened occasionally with a sponge.”

“Her lips are trying to move now. Can you hear anything?”

“Nothing.”

Seti stooped and put his ear close to the lips of the dying woman. He shook his head.

“Old age,” said he, “has its disadvantages, and dull ears are one of them. Perhaps my young friend here can help us”—and he beckoned to Aleph, who had remained at some distance.

The young man at once came forward, and, kneeling by the bed, laid his ear close to the twitching lips. For a few moments he seemed not to breathe at all. As Seti looked down on that noble head with its wealth of youth and strength in broad contrast with the sharp, worn features of the sick woman, he said to himself: “It is the head of Horus, the sun-god.”

At length Aleph rose. “She says water, water—that and nothing else.”

“Give her water, then,” commanded Seti.

“But the leech, grandfather!” interposed the maiden anxiously.

“No matter what the leech says. I too am a leech. Let her drink freely.”

Aleph took up the water-jar that was standing by the bed, poured into a large cup that was near till it was almost full, and held it to the lips of the woman—saying to Rachel as he did so: “It is the way of my country.” The dry lips closed spasmodically over the rim of the cup, and did not release it till not a drop was left. She opened her eyes. A faint sigh of relief reached the younger ears.

“Give her another cup,” said Seti.

She drained that also: then whispered Heaven—so that they all heard, and almost a smile hovered upon her wan features. Great drops stood on her forehead, and she quietly sank into sleep.

“Now lay her down softly,” said the Egyptian to the maiden, “and let her sleep. She will do well. What has she eaten?”

“Nothing since I have been here. The leech said that food would not nourish her: it would only nourish the fever.”

“Has she never asked for anything in particular?”

“The woman who was here when I came tells me that before nurse became so weak she asked for fried lampreys and onions. But the leech said that she could not ask for a worse dish. It would kill her outright. And, what was worse, it would kill him too; for it would ruin his practice to allow such a thing. It was against all rules.”

“Never you mind his rules. Tell the woman—but here she is; I will tell her myself,” and he turned toward a peasant woman, who had just softly entered and was standing embarrassed at the presence of strangers. “When this sick person wakes let her drink all the water she wants. Then ask her if she can think of anything she would like to eat, calling over to her all the eatables you can think of, and whatever she chooses get for her, even though it is fried lampreys or fried dragons. Do you understand?”

“Yes, my lord; but the leech ...”

“Will see that these instructions of Seti are obeyed. If not, send word at once to this lady.... Now, Rachel, you ought to go home at once. Though you are not unaccustomed to such work as this, I can see that you are tired and worn. If you were of the fainting sort I should hold out my arms to catch you from falling—your cheeks are so white and your eyes so——”

She would have fallen had she not hastily staggered toward him and caught his arm.

“Yes, grandfather, I think I had better go home as soon as possible,” she said in a low and trembling voice. “The closeness of the room till you came, together with the anxiety and excitement, has been too much for me. But the open air will set me right.”

“Ought not the lady to have a sedan?” inquired Aleph. “I saw a stand at the last corner as we came.”

“Certainly,” said Seti: “and where are the two servants, Rachel, who came with you?”

“Are they not at the door? I left them there, to be within call.”

“I did not notice them when we came. Did you?”—turning to Aleph.

Aleph shook his head. “Allow me to go for a sedan,” said he, “and we will see the lady safely home.”

“Thank you—that will do.”

Aleph hastened away. During his absence, which was short, Rachel reclined; and on his return with a chair and two stout porters he found her much revived and quite disposed to dismiss the vehicle as being unnecessary. But this Seti would not permit. And she speedily found that he was right; for, on trying to walk to the door, she found it necessary to accept support from both men. But the open air of the street seemed to recall her strength at once, and she entered the sedan without help.

Seti walked before the vehicle to guide. Aleph walked behind—every now and then quieting the motion of the bearers by a word, and once or twice venturing to draw aside the curtain and inquire in a grave, sympathetic way how the lady was enduring the jolting. The answer was satisfactory and cordial: and when the house of Alexander was reached she professed to feel as well and strong as ever, and proved it by darting up the steps without aid. Turning, as the door opened, she threw down thanks and adieu with the gesture of a goddess and disappeared.

“There goes the Gem of Alexandria,” murmured Seti to himself.

Aleph said nothing, but he thought that, whatever the gem, it was a wonderfully fine casket that contained it. He was sure that he had never seen a finer. And those eyes! As he turned away the twin stars again ventured to show themselves above his horizon in all their dewy splendors. But what had he to do with a maiden’s starry eyes? Just nothing at all. So back they timidly sank to the horizon’s edge; but refused to go farther. They must wait till they had burned a path through.

That evening at the khan Cimon and Aleph compared experiences. Cimon had revived his acquaintance with the city, but had not found any of his old acquaintances. Thirty years and more had dismissed all of them to new homes or to the Necropolis. No directory made it possible for him to be sure but that, somewhere in the great city, some one whom he had known as a young man was still living with whitening locks; but no doubt nearly all of his generation were dead. That was the way of things in Alexandria: as it is everywhere else. Cimon was sad that night. O Time, thou mighty thief, when will Government apprehend thee and bring thee to justice! Or, better still, when will it take thy scythe from thee, and put thee into some Reformatory to learn giving instead of stealing, addition instead of subtraction, flowing instead of ebbing, the art of ever setting poor men forward from strength to strength instead of backward from weakness to weakness! Well, that is what will be done some day—for some. For whom?