“Dinocrates died in _that_ life, as Rachel says, and hundreds of years passed. That first temple with the columns of a new shape was at last destroyed by fire, and a new temple took its place, much larger, much more splendid, as you will see in a moment. But the architect who planned the second building copied those pillars invented by Dinocrates, so though his temple had been destroyed, his work you understand, in a way, went on. Now you are going to see that _second_ temple, still on the same place or _site_, as it is called, of the first altar in the glade. And you shall see Dinocrates also—again as a little boy. Before you see him, however, I may tell you that he doesn’t remember anything about himself or his life many years before. Remember that hundreds of years have passed between the life-time of those simple people you have just seen and the people you are going to see now. Even _they_ lived six hundred years before the birth of Christ. But, as you will discover, they had already learnt to make wonderful buildings. “Shut your eyes again. Bow seven times—and many years will have gone by.” The white mist was again dissolving when the children opened their eyes and looked eagerly to see what changes had taken place during the time that had magically flown. Unaltered were the blue sky and the blue sea; unaltered the hills, unaltered many of the woods, though some of them had been cut down and houses and gardens had taken their place. The little white town in the distance, however, had grown into a large city, whose houses were now big and imposing. But the greatest change of all had taken place in what was once the glade and then (though they had not actually seen it) the first small temple. A white marble building, covering a great stretch of ground, now rose in front of the children—a beautiful temple with arcades of lofty pillars wonderfully carved, and thronging upon the steps leading to the wide open doors was a multitude of people. They were gracefully clothed—the men in tunics, with long cloaks drooping from their shoulders, the women in robes falling in folds to their sandalled feet. But the attention of Rachel and Diana was at once directed towards a group for whom everyone on the steps of the temple made way. A little boy dressed in a short white tunic, his silky hair falling on either side of his face, walked at the head of a procession towards the temple gates. Behind him, richly dressed, followed his parents, and a train of attendants and slaves.