“But I would fain tell you of all that has happened since eighteen months ago, when I last wrote to you. It has been a long, long pause, but I will make up for it now. I will take time, and write fully the story of this wondrous change. “It was a bright spring morning, and I was returning from the lecture room at the Museum, through the gardens, when, just as I was hastening to join good old Claudius on a bench where he rested, I saw a little child balancing himself on the slippery edge of the wide basin of the central fountain. “In another instant he was in the water; and what could I do, as no one else was near, but plunge in and seize the boy by his little toga. “As I had neared good Claudius I had noticed he was not alone, but that two men were apparently talking to him. It was one of these, Heraclitus, who sprang forward, and had soon brought from under the crystal water myself and the child. “Ah, Hermione! as that noble face bent over me, and I gazed up at it, I felt at once that thrill which is half-awe, half-joy, like that foreshadowing of the break of day, which makes the little bird stir in its nest--for though as yet nothing is clear, and nothing defined, the _day is near_. “The day was dawning at that moment; the day of love which has been so beautiful and fair ever since. Nor can night cast any shadow over that day of love, with its dark mantle, for my love stretches forward to that city fairer than Alexandria, fairer than Rome, where there is _no night_ and no darkness at all, for God is the Light. “I must, however, go on with my narrative of events. The youth who snatched me from the water, and laid me on the turf with the child, is named Heraclitus. His father was a friend and companion in arms of dear Claudius, and he had come from Marseilles to seek education and advantages here in Alexandria for his only son. “You may be sure, Hermione, that my father, Casca, bade both father and son a warm welcome, and from the first there seemed a bond between us all. When the father of Heraclitus returned to Marseilles, Heraclitus was left with my father and good Claudius. “Heraclitus showed from the first the greatest powers of mind and body, and from the very first he seemed to account it his greatest happiness to be with us. Ah, Hermione! with _me_. “Soon that gentle thrill of awakening in my heart grew stronger. Soon I knew that I was loved as my father Casca had loved my fair mother, Ianthe, as Claudius had loved my beautiful aunt Hyacintha. “The cup of bliss seemed full to overflowing, when there came a drop of exceeding bitterness to spoil the sweetness. Good old Claudius, in passing down the long flight of steps from the Museum, fell heavily, and it was with difficulty that Heraclitus brought him home. “For many weeks he lay helpless and uncomplaining. Sometimes he would say, ‘It was a strange end for a soldier, to lie on soft cushions, and be tended by women’s hands.’