“In a few days I was the youngest person left in Rhodes, which was now filled only with soldiers and workmen. Those were wonderful days when we waited for the coming of the fleet that was to destroy us! Almost every hour fresh troops were landed, for the countries that were friendly to us sent us soldiers in plenty. Many of them were our own countrymen—Greeks from other colonies, who rejoiced to fight with us, and arrived shouting, singing, and full of delight. All day long I ran here, there and everywhere in the town. Now I was down by the harbour to see a fresh ship full of warriors come sailing in; now I walked round the city walls to watch the workmen strengthening and repairing them. But most time of all I spent in the sheds where the great war engines were being built, for these fascinated me beyond measure, and I wondered whether even the celebrated Demetrius had better or larger ones than those we were making. I was soon to know. “My father had brought me up to reverence the gods, and the chief god of our worship was Phœbus Apollo—lord of the sun which poured its light so gloriously upon our island, and ripened our grapes and figs, and made the whole land lovely and pleasant to the sight. “In our garden there was a little white marble temple, and in it, with an altar in front, stood a beautiful statue of the god, made by our friend, Chares, the sculptor. Here I often went to pray for victory. One morning I woke before sunrise, and the loveliness of the sky made me wish to worship the god of the approaching day. “Like a vast mirror the scarcely heaving sea reflected the pink glow of the sky, where little golden clouds like feathers floated just above the horizon, and a broad band of amber was growing momentarily brighter. “I rose quickly from my place on the roof, and, running past rooms filled with sleeping soldiers (for our house had been turned into a barracks), made my way into the garden all mysterious, dim and dewy in the dawn. “I crossed wet lawns, stopped to pick a handful of the roses that poured in a crimson torrent from a stone urn, and then ran on to the grove of lemon trees in which stood the temple. “To my surprise I found someone there before me. A dark figure stood within. Just at that moment, the first ray of the risen sun darted like a golden arrow between the pillars of the temple, and the marble statue of the god appeared bathed in dazzling light. “The figure I had seen was now kneeling at the foot of the altar, and I recognised Chares. “Very softly I crept into the temple, and, dropping my roses on the altar, knelt beside him. “Then Chares rose to his feet, and stretching out his arms, prayed aloud. His words, spoken in the Greek tongue, sounded like beautiful poetry, but I can only give you in another and different language, a poor idea of the prayer he offered to Phœbus Apollo.