How long he lay thus he never knew,—­but he was roused at last.. roused by the pressure of something cold and sharp against his throat, . . and on languidly opening his eyes he found himself surrounded by a small body of men in armor, who, leaning on tall pikes which glistened brilliantly in the full sunlight, surveyed him with looks of derisive amusement.  One of these, closer to him than the rest, and who seemed from his dress and bearing to be some officer in authority, held instead of a pike a short sword, the touch of whose pointed steel blade had been the effectual means of awakening him from his lethargy.

“How now!” said this personage in a rough voice as he withdrew his weapon—­“What idle fellow art thou? ...  Traitor or spy?  Fool thou must be, and breaker of the King’s law, else thou hadst never dared to bask in such swine-like ease outside the gates of Al-Kyris the Magnificent!”

Al-Kyris the Magnificent!  What was the man talking about?  Uttering a hasty exclamation, Alwyn staggered to his feet with an effort, and shading his eyes from the hot glare of the sun, stared bewilderedly at his interlocutor.

“What..what is this?” he stammered dreamily—­“I do not understand you! ...  I..  I have slept on the field of Ardath!”

The soldiers burst into a loud laugh, in which their leader joined.

“Thou hast drunk deep, my friend!” he observed, putting up his sword with a sharp clatter into its shining sheath,—­“What name sayst thou? ...  Ardath?  We know it not, nor dost thou, I warrant, when sober!  Go to—­make for thy home speedily!  Aye, aye! the flavor of good wine clings to thy mouth still,—­’tis a pleasant sweetness that I myself am partial to, and I can pardon those who, like thee, love it somewhat too well!  Away!—­and thank the gods thou hast fallen into the hands of the King’s guard, rather then Lysia’s priestly patrol!  See! the gates are open,—­in with thee! and cool thy head at the first fountain?”

“The gates?” ...  What gates?  Removing his hand from his eyes Alwyn gazed around confusedly.  He was standing on an open stretch of level road, dustily-white, and dry, with long-continued heat,—­and right in front of him was an enormously high wall, topped with rows of bristling iron spikes, and guarded by the gates alluded to,—­huge massive portals seemingly made of finely molded brass, and embellished on either side by thick, round, stone watch towers, from whose summits scarlet pennons drooped idly in the windless air.  Amazed, and full of a vague, trembling terror, he fixed his wondering looks once more upon his strange companions, who in their turn regarded him with cool military indifference.”

“I must be mad or dreaming,” he thought,—­then growing suddenly desperate he stretched out his hands with a wild appealing gesture: 

“I swear to you I know nothing of this place!” he cried—­“I never saw it before!  Some trick has been played on me ... who brought me here?  Where is Elzear the hermit? ... the Ruins of Babylon? ... where is, ...  Good God! ... what fearful freak of fate is this!”