no part in his present undertaking.

It was late in the afternoon of a sultry parching day when he at
last arrived at Hillah. This dull little town, built at the
beginning of the twelfth century out of the then plentifully
scattered fragments of Babylon, has nothing to offer to the modern
traveller save various annoyances in the shape of excessive heat,
dust, or rather fine blown sand,--dirt, flies, bad food, and
general discomfort; and finding the aspect of the place not only
untempting, but positively depressing, Alwyn left his surplus
luggage at a small and unpretentious hostelry kept by a Frenchman,
who catered specially for archaeological tourists and explorers,
and after an hour's rest, set out alone and on foot for the
"eastern quarter" of the ruins,--namely those which are considered
by investigators to begin about two miles above Hillah. A little
beyond them and close to the river-bank, according to the
deductions he had received, dwelt the religious recluse for whom
he brought the letter of introduction from Heliobas,--a letter
bearing on its cover a superscription in Latin which translated
ran thus:--"To the venerable and much esteemed Elzear of Melyana,
at the Hermitage, near Hillah. In faith, peace, and good-will.
Greeting." Anxious to reach Elzear's abode before nightfall, he
walked on as briskly as the heat and heaviness of the sandy soil
would allow, keeping to the indistinctly traced path that crossed
and re-crossed at intervals the various ridges of earth strewn
with pulverized fragments of brick, bitumen, and pottery, which
are now the sole remains of stately buildings once famous in
Babylon.

A low red sun was sinking slowly on the edge of the horizon, when,