Such a still night as it was, with not a breath of air to cool the hot atmosphere, and the sky in the shimmering heat seemed closer to the earth than usual. No moon was yet in the heavens, but the dark blue vault was bright with innumerable stars, large and mellow, like tropical constellations. The valley below was in complete shadow, not the glimmer of a white-walled house being visible, and the sides of the gigantic cup which formed the crater of the volcano were veiled in diaphanous darkness. So intensely quiet was everything, that even the nightingales were silent, and there seemed something awesome in this breathless stillness of Nature, as though the whole earth were dead, and only the handful of people assembled there alive. “I don’t like this sultry night,” whispered Helena to Maurice uneasily, as he stood by one of the pillars with his arm round her waist. “I hope nothing is wrong with the volcano!” “What! after thousands of years’ quiet?” laughed Maurice gently. “My dear child, the volcano is as extinct as the dodo.” “I don’t know what a dodo is,” replied Helena, panting; “but the whole place seems so unnaturally still that it gives me the idea of some coming trouble.” “Perhaps Alcibiades!” “Oh, we can fight against him, but we can’t fight against an eruption.” “Who is talking about an eruption?” said Justinian, turning round from the electric apparatus he was examining. “Helena. She is afraid there will be one soon.” “Nonsense, nonsense!” said the old man testily, yet with an anxious frown on his face. “If there was danger of an upheaval, we would be warned by the hot springs, but they are just bubbling as usual. Besides, Georgois tells me there is an eruption at Santorin, so with that vent for the volcanic forces we are quite safe. Why, I have lived here for forty years in safety, and the crater has been extinct for thousands of years, so we need not be afraid of anything going wrong now.” Thus pacified, Helena, in common with the rest, turned her attention to the electric light, which at this moment flashed out from the carbon points in terrible splendor. Alexandros began to move it about, and like the flaming sword of St. Michael, or the tail of a comet, it swept in a tremendous arc across the dark sky. Turned down on the valley, it revealed everything as if it were day, the lake, the houses, the trees, the streets—all sprang out of the darkness with the minuteness of a photograph. Then the intolerable brilliance began to move slowly round the sides of the crater, the black pine forests, the arid rocks, and then the rugged peaks, white with chill snows. But, lo! as it travelled eastward along the jagged heights, on one burned a huge red star. “The watchfire!” cried Maurice, springing to his feet. “Turn off the light!” commanded Justinian hastily. Alexandros did so, and there on the cold peak, amid the luminous twilight, flamed the bonfire of the watch like a baneful star, telling of destruction, war, and death.