CHAPTER XXIV.

The terrific storm of the preceding night had thrown the whole city into
dismay. Everyone knew the danger that threatened Serapis, and what must
ensue if he were overthrown; and everyone had thought that the end of the
world had indeed come. But the tempest died away; the sun's bright glow
dispersed the clouds and mist; sea and sky smiled radiantly blue, and the
trees and herbage glistened in revived freshness.

Not yet had the Romans dared to lay hands on the chief of the gods,
the patron and protector of the city. Serapis had perhaps sent the
lightning, thunder and rain as a message to warn his foes. If only
they might abstain from the last, worst crime of desecrating his image!

Nor was this the hope of the heathen only; on the contrary: Jews and
Christians no less dreaded the fall of the god and of his temple. He was
the pride, the monumental glory of the city of Alexander; the centre of
foundations and schools which benefited thousands. The learning which
was the boast of Alexandria dwelt under his protection; to the Serapeum
was attached a medical Faculty which enjoyed the reputation of being the
first in the world; from its observatory the course of the year was
forecast and the calendar was promulgated. An hour's slumber in its
halls brought prophetic dreams, and the future must remain undivined if
Serapis were to fall, for the god revealed it to his priests, not merely
by the courses and positions of the stars, but by many other signs; and
it was a delight and a privilege to look forward from the certain,
tangible present to the mysteries of the morrow.

Even Christian seers answered the questionings of their followers in a