would present to the library of the museum the two hundred thousand
volumes from Pergamus, one of the most valuable gifts Mark Antony had
ever bestowed upon her, and which she had hitherto regarded merely as a
loan. This she hoped would repay Didymus for the injury which, to her
deep regret, had been inflicted upon him, and at least partially repair
the loss sustained by the former library of the museum during the
conflagration in the Bruchium.

The sages, eagerly assuring her of their gratitude and devotion, retired.
Most of them were personally known to Cleopatra who, to their mutual
pleasure and advantage, had measured her intellectual powers with the
most brilliant minds of their body.

The sun had already set, when a procession of the priests of Serapis, the
chief god of the city, whose coming had been announced the day before,
appeared at Lochias. Accompanied by torch and lantern bearers, it moved
forward with slow and solemn majesty. In harmony with the nature of
Serapis, there were many reminders of death.

The meaning of every image, every standard, every shrine, every
peculiarity of the music and singing, was familiar to the Queen. Even
the changing colours of the lights referred to the course of growth and
decay in the universe and in human life, and the magnificent close of the
chant of homage which represented the reception of the royal soul into
the essence of the deity, the apotheosis of the sovereign, was well
suited to stir the heart; for a sea of light unexpectedly flooded the
whole procession and, while its glow irradiated the huge pile of the
palace, the sea with its forest of ships and masts, and the shore with
its temples, pylons, obelisks, and superb buildings, all the choruses,
accompanied by the music of sackbuts, cymbals, and lutes, blended in a