The busy turmoil of the town had been hushed for some hours; the moon
and stars were keeping silent watch over Alexandria, and many of the
inhabitants were already in the land of dreams. It was deliciously fresh
--a truly gracious night; but, though peace reigned in the streets and
alleys, even now there was in this pause for rest a lack of the soothing
calm which refreshes and renews the spirit of man. For some few weeks
there had been an oppressive and fevered tension in the repose of night.
Every house and shop was closed as securely as though it were done, not
only to secure slumber against intrusion, but to protect life and
property from the spoiler; and instead of tones of jollity and mirth the
sleeping city echoed the heavy steps and ringing arms of soldiers. Now
and again, when the Roman word of command or the excited cry of some
sleepless monk broke the silence, shops and doors were cautiously opened
and an anxious face peered out, while belated wanderers shrunk into
gateways or under the black shadow of a wall as the watch came past. A
mysterious burden weighed on the Heart of the busy city and clicked its
pulses, as a nightmare oppresses the dreamer. On this night of the year of our Lord 391, in a narrow street leading
from the commercial harbor known as Kibotus, an old man was slinking
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