dust. The hedges of tamarisk and shrubs looked like decaying walls of
colorless, unburnt mud-bricks; even in the high-roads the wayfarer walked
in the midst of dense white clouds raised by his feet, and if a chariot,
or a horseman galloped down the scorching street, fine, grey sand at once
filled the air, compelling the foot-passengers to shut their eyes and
lips.

The town was so silent, so empty, so deserted! No one came out of doors
unless under pressure of business or piety. Every house was a furnace,
and even a bath brought no refreshment, for the water had long since
ceased to be cold. A disease had also attacked the ripening dates as
they hung; they dropped off in thousands from the heavy clusters under
the beautiful bending crown of leaves; and now for two days hundreds of
dead fish had been left on the banks. Even the scaly natives of the
river were plague-stricken; and the physician explained to his friend
that this brought the inhabitants a fresh danger; for who could clear the
shores of the dead fish?--And, in such heat, how soon they would become
putrid!

The old man did not conceal from himself that it was hard, cruelly hard,
for the physician to follow his calling conscientiously at such a time;
but he knew his friend; he had seen him during months of pestilence two
years since--always brisk, decisive and gay, indeed inspired to greater
effort by the greater demands on him. What had so completely altered
him, had poisoned and vexed his soul as with a malignant spell? It was
not the almost superhuman sacrifices required by his duties;--it came of
the unfortunate infatuation of his heart, of which he could not rid
himself.

Philippus had kept his promise. He went every day to the house of