The officials in the magnificent hall had also risen.  Here the silence had been interrupted only by low whispers.  The colour had faded from most of the grave, anxious faces, and their timid glances shunned one another.

Archibius had first perceived, by the flames of the Pharos, the red glimmer which announced the approach of the royal galley.  It had not been expected so early, but was already passing the islands into the great harbour.  It was probably the Antonius, the ship on which the old swallows had pecked the young ones to death.

Though the waves were running high, even in the sheltered harbour, they scarcely rocked the massive vessel.  An experienced pilot must have steered it past the shallows and cliffs on the eastern side of the roadstead, for instead of passing around the island of Antirrhodus as usual, it kept between the island and the Lochias, steering straight towards the entrance into the little royal harbour.  The pitch-pans on both sides had been filled with fresh resin and tow to light the way.  The watchers on the shore could now see its outlines distinctly.

It was the Antonius, and yet it was not.

Zeno, the Keeper of the Seal, who was standing beside Iras, wrapped his cloak closer around his shivering limbs, pointed to it, and whispered,

“Like a woman who leaves her parents’ house in the rich array of a bride, and returns to it an impoverished widow.”

Iras drew herself up, and with cutting harshness replied, “Like the sun veiled by mists, but which will soon shine forth again more radiantly than ever.”

“Spoken from the depths of my soul,” said the old courtier eagerly, “so far as the Queen is concerned.  Of course, I did not allude to her Majesty, but to the ship.  You were ill when it left the harbour, garlanded with flowers and adorned with purple sails.  And now!  Even this flickering light shows the wounds and rents.  I am the last person whom you need tell that our sun Cleopatra will soon regain its old radiance, but at present it is very chilly and cold here by the water’s edge in this stormy air; and when I think of our first moment of meeting—­

“Would it were over!” murmured Iras, wrapping herself closer in her cloak.  Then she drew back shivering, for the rattle of the heavy chain, which was drawn aside from the opening of the harbour, echoed with an uncanny sound through the silence of the night.  A mountain seemed to weigh upon the watchers’ breasts, for the wooden monster which now entered the little harbour moved forward as slowly and silently as a spectral ship.  It seemed as if life were extinct on the huge galley usually swarming with a numerous crew; as if a vessel were about to cast anchor whose sailors had fallen victims to the plague.  Nothing was heard save an occasional word of command, and the signal whistles of the fluteplayer who directed the rowers.  A few lanterns burned with a wavering light on the vast length of her decks.  The brilliant illumination which usually shone through the darkness would have attracted the attention of the Alexandrians.