Sailing and rowing amongst the islands of the Archipelago, the vessel was now making for Crete, where she was to take on board a cargo of wool, and disembark some ecclesiastics, bound for a Cretan monastery. Old men, seated on the fore-deck, were passing the days in pious gossip, prayer, or in their monkish avocation of weaving baskets from slips of palm-leaf. In the stern, under a light violet awning, other passengers were installed, with whom the monks, considering them Pagans, were anxious to have nothing to do. These were Anatolius, Ammianus Marcellinus, and Arsinoë. The evening was calm. The rowers--slaves from Alexandria--heaved and lowered their long oars to the beat of an ancient chant. The sun was sinking amid ruddy clouds. Anatolius was gazing at the waves, thinking over the poet's phrase, _the many-laughtered sea_. After the hustling, the heat and dust of the streets of Antioch, after the smoke of torches, and the fiery breath of the rabble, he was lulling his mind with the thought: "Thou of the many laughters, take me and cleanse my soul!" Isles of Calypso, Amorgos, Astypalæa, Thera, arose like visions, now lifting themselves from the sea, now melting away, as if, all round the vessel, the Oceanides were still leading their eternal dance. In those waters Anatolius felt himself far back in the days of the Odyssey. His companions did not disturb his meditations, for each was absorbed in work. Ammianus Marcellinus was putting in order his memoirs of the Persian campaign and the life of the Emperor Julian; and in the evenings he used to read the remarkable work of the Christian master, Clement of Alexandria, entitled, _Stromata: The Patchwork Quilt_. Arsinoë was making models in wax for a large marble statue. It was the figure of some Olympian deity, the face of which wore an expression of super human sadness. Anatolius wished, but hesitated, to ask her whether it represented Dionysus or Christ. The artist had long ago abandoned the robes of a nun. Pious folk had turned from her with horror, and called her the recreant; but her name, and the recollection of generous gifts formerly made to Christian monasteries, safeguarded her from persecution. Of her great fortune but a small portion remained, just enough to secure independence; and on the shores of the Gulf of Naples, not far from Baiæ, she still owned a small estate, and the same villa in which Myrrha had passed her last days. Thither Arsinoë, Anatolius, and Marcellinus had agreed to retire after the stormy troubles of recent years, to pass their lives in peace as servants of the Muses.