Again the children did as they were told, and found, scarcely to their surprise now, so accustomed to marvels had they grown, that the night had vanished. It was broad daylight, and the sun streamed down upon a bare rocky island separated by a narrow belt of sea from the mainland. There was no city, no lighthouse, only a few rough huts upon the rocky island round which the sea-gulls circled, uttering sad cries. A mighty river, flowing through miles of flat land, poured its waters into the sea close to the island. “This,” said Dinocrates, when the children had gazed a moment at the scene, “was what I found, when, at the command of Alexander, I came hither to build the city. That bare island in front of the mainland was then, and is still called, the Isle of Pharos.” He waited a moment. “Close once again your eyes, and wait till I pronounce the magic number,” he presently directed. At the word _seven_, the children looked again, and together uttered a long _Oh!_ of astonishment at the change which had taken place. There was the island indeed, but no longer bare and uninhabited. A gleaming bridge joined it on the land side to a city whose temples, open-air theatres, statues and monuments shone white and splendid in the sunshine. The whole, including three sides of the island, was enclosed by a mighty wall with turrets at intervals upon it, and the water space between the island and the city was now a harbour in which ships rode at anchor. “There stands Alexandria as I built it over two thousand years ago,” said Dinocrates, quietly. “And there, bearing the same name, the name of Alexander the Great, it stands to-day. English sailors anchor their ships in its port, many English people live there, and it has heard the guns of the Great War that is just over.” “Not like Babylon, or Ephesus—all in ruins,” murmured Rachel. “Alexandria has _lasted_.” “It has lasted—but it no longer looks as you see it here. Time and change! Time and change!” murmured Dinocrates, softly. “It is a modern city now, and most of what _I_ built is ruins beneath its present squares and houses.” “But there’s no lighthouse—even as we see the place now,” exclaimed Diana. “There was no lighthouse even in my time, little child. It was not till I had been dead twenty years and more that the beacon tower was built.” [Illustration] Rachel glanced at him. “After you had—gone on? Gone into another life, you mean?” she said. Dinocrates smiled kindly at her. “That is a better way of saying the same thing, little maid,” he agreed. “But you promised you would tell us about the lighthouse,” began Diana, after a moment. “_Do_ tell us, please,” she urged. Again Dinocrates smiled. “I am coming to it, impatient one,” he began, when Rachel interrupted. “I want to know all sorts of other things first,” she declared. “Did Alexander live here after the town was built?”