setting sun--a shaft of intense brightness--pierced the star-spangled
apse of the niche and fell on the lips of the god as though to kiss its
Lord and Father.

A shout like a thunder-clap-like the roar of breakers on a reef, burst
from the spectators; a shout of triumph so mighty that the statues
quivered, the brazen altars rang, the hangings swayed, the sacred vessels
clattered and the lamps trembled and swung; the echo rolled round the
aisles like a whirlpool at the flood, and was dashed from pillar to
column in a hundred wavelets of sound. The glorious sun still recognized
its lord; Serapis still reigned in undiminished might; he had not yet
lost the power to defend himself, his world and his children!

The sun was gone, night fell on the temple and suddenly there was a
swaying movement of the apse above the statue; the stars were shaken by
invisible hands, and colored flames twinkled with dazzling brightness
from a myriad five-rayed perforations. Once more the god was revealed to
his worshippers under a flood of magical glory, and now fully visible in
his unique beauty. Again the great halls rang with the acclamations of
the delirious throng; Olympius stepped forth, arrayed in a flowing robe
with the insignia and decorations of the high-priesthood; standing in
front of the image he poured on the pedestal a libation to the gods out
of a golden cup, and waved a censer of the costliest incense. Then, in
burning words, he exhorted all the followers of Serapis to fight and
conquer for their god, or--if need must--to perish for and with him. He
added a fervent prayer in a loud ringing voice--a cry for help that came
from the bottom of his heart, and went to the souls of his hearers.

Then a solemn hymn was chanted as the curtain was raised; and while the
assembled multitude watched it rise in reverent silence, the temple-