Heraklas walked the dyke till the burning sun of noon forced him to
find shelter. He went back to his hiding place at the docks. He
watched and waited through the long hours.

At length the day departed. When the darkness covered the surface of
the harbor, Heraklas rose and girt about him the ample dress he
wore, of fine linen, that descended to his feet.

He slipped softly into the water, and swam toward the ship. Reaching
the small boat that floated by the ship, Heraklas drew himself up
into the little craft.

He listened to the lap of water on the side of the ship. A sudden
joy shot through Heraklas that they were so near together, Timokles
and, himself. It was for this he had stayed outside Alexandria till
the gates were shut. It were better to be a homeless Christian on
this water than to linger in godless Alexandria!

He heard sounds of revelry on shipboard. Heraklas pulled on the rope
that fastened the small boat to the ship. The rope was stout and
well-fastened.

In the dark, he began to climb the rope with trembling fingers. Now
he hung by the side of the ship, and now, one hand above another, he
drew himself higher, higher, till he grasped the ship's side. He
struggled over it, and dropped down on board in the darkness. He
waited. No one came. He heard sounds of men that laughed and talked
loudly.