night. His gaze was held by the
smoothness of the flagging at his feet. Then it became transformed into
marble, the walls of his cell widened, and he closed his eyes, so
blinding were the long ladders of light....

II

TWO DREAMERS

He opened them ... the harbour with its army of galleys and pleasure
craft lay in the burning sunshine, its surface a sapphire blue. Overhead
the sky echoed this tone, which modulated into deeper notes of purple on
the far-away hills whose tops were wreathed in mist. Under his sandalled
feet was marble, back of him were the gleaming spires and towers of the
great city, and at his left was a mountain of shining marble, the
Pharos.

"Alexandria?" he called out as he was jostled by a melon-seller, and
startled by the fluted invitations of a young girl--an antique statue
come to life.

"Of course it is Alexandria," replied a deep, harsh voice at his elbow.
He turned. It was his friend Philo.

"You have at last emerged from your day-dream, Hyzlo! I thought, as our
bark clove the water, that you were enjoying visions." And it seemed to
Hyzlo that he had just awakened from a bizarre dream of a monastic cell,
to more beautiful sights and shapes and sounds. The pair now traversed
the quay, past the signal masts, the fortified towers, pushing through
the throng of sailors, courtesans, philosophers, fruitsellers, soldiers,
beggars, and idle rich toward the spacious city. Past the palace to the
wall of the Canal, along the banks of the Royal Port, they finally
struck into a broad, deserted avenue. At its head was a garden wall.
Philo introduced himself and his companion through a low door and
presently they were both in an apartment full of parchments, glittering
brass and gold instruments all reposing on a wide, long table.

"Hyzlo," said the Jewish philosopher, in his slightly accented Greek, "I
have long promised you that I would reveal to you my secret, my life
work. I am downcast by sadness. Rome is full of warring cults, Greek,
African, Babylonian, Buddhistic; the writings of the great teachers, the
masters, Heraclitus, Zeno, Anaxagoras, Plato, Socrates, Epictetus,
Seneca, are overlaid with heretical emendations. The religion of my
fellow-countrymen is a fiery furnace, Jerusalem a den of warring
thieves. The rulers of earth are weary and turn a deaf ear on their
peoples. The time is ripe for revolt. Sick of the accursed luxury and
debauchery, fearful of the threatening barbarians from A