Presently a dull low chant of men’s voices was heard.  This went on for a few minutes, and then a loud pean in honor of the god rang through the temple with an accompaniment of flutes, cymbals, lutes and trumpets.

Karnis had found a place with his wife and son; all three, holding hands, joined enthusiastically in the stirring hymn; and, with them, Porphyrius, who by accident was close to them, swelling the song of the multitude.  All now stood with hands uplifted and eyes fixed in anxious expectancy on the curtain.  The figures and emblems on the hanging were invisible in the gloom—­but now-now there was a stir, as of life, in the ponderous folds,—­they moved—­they began to ripple like streams, brooks, water-falls, recovering motion after long stagnation—­the curtain slowly sank, and at length it fell so suddenly that the eye could scarcely note the instant.  From every lip, as but one voice, rose a cry of admiration, amazement, and delight, for Serapis stood revealed to his people.

The noble manhood of the god sat with dignity on a golden throne that was covered with a blaze of jewels; his gracious and solemn face looked down on the crowd of worshippers.  The hair that curled upon his thoughtful brow, and the kalathos that crowned it were of pure gold At his feet crouched Cerberus, raising his three fierce heads with glistening ruby eyes.  The body of the god—­a model of strength in repose—­and the drapery were of gold and ivory.  In its perfect harmony as a whole, and the exquisite beauty of every detail, this statue bore the stamp of supreme power and divine majesty.  When such a divinity as this should rise from his throne the earth indeed might quake and the heavens tremble!  Before such a Lord the strongest might gladly bow, for no mortal ever shone in such radiant beauty.  This Sovereign must triumph over every foe, even over death—­the monster that lay writhing in impotent rage at his feet!

Gasping and thrilled with pious awe, enraptured but dumb with reverent fear, the assembled thousands gazed on the god dimly revealed to them in the twilight, when suddenly, for a moment of solemn glory, a ray of the setting sun—­a shaft of intense brightness—­pierced the star-spangled apse of the niche and fell on the lips of the god as though to kiss its Lord and Father.

A shout like a thunder-clap-like the roar of breakers on a reef, burst from the spectators; a shout of triumph so mighty that the statues quivered, the brazen altars rang, the hangings swayed, the sacred vessels clattered and the lamps trembled and swung; the echo rolled round the aisles like a whirlpool at the flood, and was dashed from pillar to column in a hundred wavelets of sound.  The glorious sun still recognized its lord; Serapis still reigned in undiminished might; he had not yet lost the power to defend himself, his world and his children!