Nearly three more months had gone when, at length, one night as the sun vanished, a galley crept wearily into the harbour of Alexandria and cast anchor just as the light of Pharos began to shine across the sea. Her passage through the winter gales had been hard, and for weeks at a time she had been obliged to shelter in harbours by the way. Now, short of food and water, she had come safely to her haven, for which mercy the bishop Cyril with the Roman Marcus and such other Christians as were aboard of her gave thanks to Heaven upon their knees in their little cabin near the forecastle, for it was too late to attempt to land that night. Then they went on deck and, as all their food was gone and they had no drink except some stinking water, leaned upon the bulwarks and looked hungrily towards the shore, where gleamed the thousand lights of the mighty city. Near to them, not a bowshot away indeed, lay another ship. Presently, as they stared at her black outline, the sound of singing floated from her decks across the still, starlit waters of the harbour. They listened to it idly enough at first, till at length some words of that song reached their ears, causing them to look at each other. “That is no sailor’s ditty,” said Marcus. “No,” answered Cyril, “it is a Christian hymn, and one that I know well. Listen. Each verse ends, ‘Peace, be still!’” “Then,” said Marcus, “yonder must be a Christian ship, else they would not dare to sing that hymn. The night is calm, let us beg the boat and visit it. I am thirsty, and those good folk may have fresh water.” “If you wish,” answered Cyril. “There too we may get tidings as well as water.” A while later the little boat rowed to the side of the strange ship and asked leave to board of the watchman. “What sign do you give?” asked the officer. “The sign of the Cross,” answered Cyril. “We have heard your hymn who are of the brotherhood of Rome.” Then a rope ladder was thrown down to them and the officer bade them make fast and be welcome. They climbed upon the deck and went to seek the captain, who was in the afterpart of the ship, where an awning was stretched. In the space enclosed by this awning, which was lit with lanterns, stood a woman in a white robe, who sang the refrain of the hymn in a very sweet voice, others of the company, from time to time, joining in its choruses. “From the dead am I arisen” sang the voice, and there was something in the thrilling notes that went straight to the heart of Marcus, some tone and quality which were familiar. Side by side with Cyril he climbed onwards across the rowing benches, and the noise of their stumbling footsteps reaching the singer’s ears, caused her to pause in her song. Then stepping forward a little, as though to look, she came under the lantern so that its light fell full upon her face, and, seeing nothing, once more took up her chant: “Oh ye faithless, from the dead am I arisen.”