"I am only going to pray for you and your brother."

And she went out.

A few moments later the brazen gong was heard--muffled out of regard for
the sick--which announced the hour of prayer to the little congregation.
It had sounded every evening without disturbing the sufferer, but to-
night it roused her from her slumbers.

She looked about her in bewilderment and tried to rise, but she was too
weak to lift herself. Terror, blood, Diodoros wounded, Andreas, the ass
on which she had ridden that night, were the images which first crowded
on her awakening spirit in bewildering confusion. She had heard that
piercing ring of smitten brass in the Serapeum. Was she still there?
Had she only dreamed of that night-ride with her wounded lover? Perhaps
she had lost consciousness in the mystic chambers, and the clang of the
gong had roused her.

And she shuddered. In her terror she dared not open her eyes for
fear of seeing on all hands the hideous images on the walls and ceiling.
Merciful gods! If her flight from the Serapeum and the rescue of
Diodoros by Andreas had really been but a dream, then the door might open
at any moment, and the Egyptian Zminis or his men might come in to drag
her before that dreadful Caesar.

She had half recovered consciousness several times, and as these thoughts
had come over her, her returning lucidity had vanished and a fresh attack
of fever had shaken her. But this time her head seemed clearer; the
cloud and humming had left her which had impeded the use of her ears and