On a platform of rocks and mighty masonry rose a structure of wonderful magnificence and beauty, so brilliantly illuminated by the morning sun that its noble proportions and gorgeous colors showed in dazzling splendor and relief.  Over the gilt dome bent the cloudless blue of the African sky, and the polished hemisphere shone, as radiant as the sun whose beams it reflected.  Sloping planes for vehicles, and flights of steps for pedestrians led up to the gates.  The lower part of this wonderful edifice—­the great Temple of Serapis—­was built to stand forever, and the pillars of the vestibule supported a roof more fitted to the majesty of the gods than to the insignificance of mortals; priests and worshippers moved here like children among the trunks of some gigantic forest.  Round the cornice, in hundreds of niches, and on every projection, all the gods of Olympus and all the heroes and sages of Greece seemed to have met in conclave, and stood gazing down on the world in gleaming brass or tinted marble.  Every portion of the building blazed with gold and vivid coloring; the painter’s hand had added life to the marble groups in high relief that filled the pediments and the smaller figures in the long row of metopes.  All the population of a town might have found refuge in the vast edifice and its effect on the mind was like that of a harmonious symphony of adoration sung by a chorus of giants.

“All hail!  Great Serapis!  I greet thee in joyful humility, thankful that Thou hast granted to my old eyes to see Thy glorious and eternal temple once again!” murmured Karnis in devout contemplation.  Then, appealing to his wife and son, he pointed in silence to the building.  Presently, however, as he watched Orpheus gazing in speechless delight at its magnificent proportions he could not forbear.

“This,” he began with fervid enthusiasm, “is the stronghold of Serapis the King of the Gods!  A work for all time.  Its youth has lasted five hundred years, its future will extend to all eternity.—­Aye, so it is; and so long as it endures in all its glory the old gods cannot be deposed!”

“No one will ever dare to touch a stone of it,” said the steward.  “Every child in Alexandria knows that the world will crumble into dust and ashes if a finger is laid on that Temple, and the man who ventures to touch the sacred image. . .”

“The god can protect himself!” interrupted the singer.  “But you—­you Christian hypocrites who pretend to hate life and love death—­if you really long so vehemently for the end of all things, you have only to fall upon this glorious structure.—­Do that, do that—­only do that!”

The old man shook his fist at the invisible foe and Herse echoed his words: 

“Aye, aye, only do that!” Then she added more calmly:  “Well, if everything comes to an end at once the enemies of the gods will die with us; and there can be nothing terrible in perishing at the same time with everything that is beautiful or dear to us.”