“There is the first lighthouse,” said a well-known voice, and turning together, the children saw standing behind them—Mr. Sheston. Rachel, at any rate, knew it was Mr. Sheston, even though he looked quite different, and wore a tunic with a cloak thrown over his shoulders, for she was accustomed by this time to seeing him in various guises. “Oh, _do_ tell us where we are,” she begged. “We’re on the sea, of course—but what sea is it? And how far are we back into the Past? And what is your name _this_ time?” The tall dark man laughed. “Let me take the questions singly. This is the Mediterranean Sea. We are about two thousand five hundred years back into the Past. The land there is the coast of Egypt. And my name you already know, for I am Dinocrates.” “Oh, then it was you who built the Temple of Diana?” asked Rachel. “And you were the little boy with the leopard skin? And afterwards—hundreds of years afterwards—you built the _first_ temple—and the second and third ones too,” cried Diana. “Mr. Sheston told us all about you, and——” But here Diana paused, for she suddenly realised that Dinocrates and Mr. Sheston were one and the same. Rachel had evidently come to a like conclusion, for all at once she said in a whisper, “I thought so.” There was silence for a moment while both children, rather confused, were considering the strangeness of this. Then Rachel, who was never very long quiet, began again: “There’s a great town behind the tower, isn’t there? When the flames blow backwards I can see the houses.” “You behold the city of Alexandria.” “Alexandria?” repeated Diana quickly. “That reminds me of—_last_ time. Bucephalus, you know, and Alexander the Great.... Has the town anything to do with him?” “Everything,” answered Dinocrates. “He founded it, and gave to it his own name, the name by which men who live in your world of to-day, still call it. But it was I who built it,” he added. “That is, you understand, it was I who made the plans for the building of the city.” “And did you build the lighthouse too?” asked Diana. Dinocrates shook his head. “Nay, not to me, but to another, do the sailors owe that tower of warning—the tower that has saved many lives.” “Do tell us about it,” urged Rachel. “Who first thought of it? I suppose the sort of lights we have now with reflectors and all that, weren’t invented when _this_ lighthouse was made? But what a good idea to make flames come out at the top instead.” “You shall hear the story of the lighthouse,” said Dinocrates, “but let us sit at our ease while I relate it.” He pointed to a coil of ropes, and the children, settling themselves close together upon it, found that it made a most comfortable seat.