 CHAPTER XVII. We learn of great things by little experiences. The history of ages is but an indefinite repetition of the history of hours. The record of a soul is but a multiple of the story of a moment. The recording angel writes in the great book in no rainbow tints. His pen is dipped in no colors but light and darkness. For the eye of infinite wisdom there is no need of shading. All things, all thoughts, all emotions, all experiences, all doubts and hopes and fears, all intentions, all wishes seen down to the lower strata of their concrete and multitudinous elements are finally resolved into direct opposites. Did any human being wish for the epitome of a life wherein were gathered and grouped all the experiences that a child of Adam could have, the history, fully and frankly written of my own mind during the next forty-eight hours, would afford him all that could be wanted. And the recorder could have wrought as usual in sunlight and shadow, which may be taken to represent the final expressions of heaven and hell, for in the highest heaven is faith, and doubt hangs over the yawning blackness of hell. There were, of course, times of sunshine in those two days, moments when, in the realization of Margaret's sweetness and her love for me, all doubts were dissipated like morning mist before the sun. But the balance of the time, and an overwhelming balance it was, gloom hung over me like a pall. The hour in whose coming ahead acquiesced was approaching so quickly and was already so near that the sense of finality was bearing upon me. The issue was perhaps life or death to any of us, but for this we were all prepared. Margaret and I were one as to the risk. The question of the moral aspect of the case, which involved the religious belief in which I had been reared, was not one to trouble me, for the issues and the causes that lay behind them were not within my power even to comprehend. The doubt of the success of the great experiment was such a doubt as exists in all enterprises which have great possibilities. To me, whose life was passed in a series of intellectual struggles, this form of doubt was a stimulus rather than a deterrent. What then was it that made for me a trouble which became an anguish when my thoughts dwelt long on it? I was beginning to doubt Margaret. What it was that I doubted I knew not. It was not her love, or her honor, or her truth, or her kindness, or her zeal. What then was it? It was herself. Margaret was changing. At times during the past few days I had hardly known her as the same girl whom I had met at the picnic, and whose vigils I had shared in the sick-room of her father. Then, even in her moments of greatest sorrow or fright or anxiety, she was all life and thought and keenness. Now she was generally distraite, and at times in a sort of negative condition, as though her mind, her very being, was not present. At such moments she would have full possession of observation and memory. She would know and remember all that was going on, and had gone on around her, but her coming back to her old self had to me something the sensation of a new person coming into the room. Up to the time of leaving London I had been content whenever she was present. I had over me that delicious sense of security which comes with the consciousness that love is mutual. But now doubt had taken its place. I never knew whether the personality present was my Margaret, the old Margaret whom I had loved at the first glance, or the other new Margaret whom I hardly understood, and whose intellectual aloofness made an impalpable barrier between us. Sometimes she would become, as it were, awake all at once. At such times, though she would say to me sweet and pleasant things which she had often said before, she would seem most unlike herself. It was almost as if she was speaking parrot-like, or at dictation of one who could read words or acts, but not thoughts. After one or two experiences of this kind, my own doubting began to make a barrier, for I could not speak with the ease and freedom which were usual to me. And so, hour by hour, we drifted apart. Were it not for the few odd moments when the old Margaret was back with me, full of her charm, I do not know what would have happened. As it was, each such moment gave me a fresh start and kept my love from changing. I would have given the world for a confidant, but this was impossible. How could I speak a doubt of Margaret to any one, even her father? How could I speak a doubt to Margaret when Margaret herself was the theme? I could only endure and hope, and of the two the endurance was the lesser pain. I think that Margaret must have, at times, felt that there was some cloud between us. For towards the end of the first day she began to shun me a little, or perhaps it was that she had become more diffident than usual about me. Hitherto she had sought every opportunity of being with me, just as I had tried to be with her, so that now any avoidance, one or the other, made a new pain to us both. On this day the household seemed very still. Each one of us was about his own work, or occupied with his own thoughts. We only met at mealtimes, and then, though we talked, all seemed more or less preoccupied. There was not in the house even the stir of the routine of service. The precaution of Mr. Trelawney in having three rooms prepared for each of us had rendered servants unnecessary. The dining-room was solidly prepared with cooked provisions for several days. Towards evening I went out by myself for a stroll. I had looked for Margaret to ask her to come with me, but when I found her she was in one of her apathetic moods, and the charm of her presence seemed lost to me. Angry with myself, but unable to quell my own spirit of discontent, I went out alone over the rocky headland. On the cliff, with the wide expanse of wonderful sea before me, and no sound but the dash of waves below and the harsh screams of the seagulls above, my thoughts ran free. Do what I would they returned continuously to one subject, the solving of the doubt that was upon me. Here in the solitude, amid the wide circle of nature's force and strife, my mind began to work truly. Unconsciously I found myself asking a question which I would not allow myself to answer. At last the persistence of a mind working truly prevailed. I found myself face to face with my doubt. The habit of my life began to assert itself, and I analyzed the evidence before me. It was so startling that I had to force myself into obedience to logical effort. My starting place was this. Margaret was changed, in what way and by what means. Was it her character, or her mind, or her nature? For her physical appearance remained the same. I began to group all that I had ever heard of her, beginning at her birth. It was strange at the very first. She had been, according to Korbeck's statement, born of a dead mother during the time that her father and his friend were in a trance in the tomb at Aswan. That trance was presumably affected by a woman, a woman mummied, yet preserving as we had every reason to believe, from after experience, an astral body subject to a free will and an active intelligence. With that astral body space ceased to exist. The vast distance between London and Aswan became as not, and whatever power of necromancy the sorcerers had might have been exercised over the dead mother, and possibly the dead child. The dead child? Was it possible that the child was dead and was made alive again? Whence then came the animating spirit, the soul? Logic was pointing the way to me now with a vengeance. If the Egyptian belief was true for Egyptians, then the Ca of the dead queen and her coup could animate what she might choose. In such case Margaret would not be an individual at all, but simply a phase of Queen Tara herself, an astral body obedient to her will. Here I revolted against logic. Every fiber of my being resented such a conclusion. How could I believe that there was no Margaret at all, but just an animated image used by the double of a woman of forty centuries ago to its own ends? Somehow the outlook was brighter to me now, despite the new doubts. At least I had Margaret. Back swung the logical pendulum again. The child then was not dead. If so, had the sorcerers had anything to do with her birth at all? It was evident, so I took it again from Korbek, that there was a strange likeness between Margaret and the pictures of Queen Tara. How could this be? It could not be any birthmark reproducing what had been in the mother's mind, for Mrs. Trelawney had never seen the pictures. Nay, even her father had not seen them till he had found his way into the tomb only a few days before her birth. This phase I could not get rid of so easily as the last. The fibers of my being remained quiet. They remained to me the horror of doubt. And even then, so strange as the mind of man, doubt itself took a concrete image, a vast and impenetrable gloom, through which flickered irregularly and spasmodically tiny points of evanescent light which seemed to quicken the darkness into a positive existence. The remaining possibility of relations between Margaret and the mummied queen was that in some occult way the sorcerers had power to change places with the other. This view of things could not be so lightly thrown aside. There were too many suspicious circumstances to warrant this, now that my attention was fixed on it and my intelligence recognized the possibility. Thereupon there began to come into my mind all the strange incomprehensible matters which had whirled through our lives in the last few days. At first they all crowded in upon me in a jumbled mass. But again the habit of mind of my working life prevailed and they took order. I found it now easier to control myself, for there was something to grasp, some work to be done, though it was of a sorry kind, for it was or might be antagonistic to Margaret. But Margaret was herself at stake. I was thinking of her and fighting for her, and yet if I were to work in the dark I might be even harmful to her. My first weapon in her defense was truth. I must know and understand. I might then be able to act. I could not act beneficently without a just conception and recognition of the facts. Arranged in order these were as follows. Firstly, the strange likeness of Queen Tara to Margaret, who had been born in another country a thousand miles away where her mother could not possibly have had even a passing knowledge of her appearance. Thirdly, the finding of the lamps in the Boudoir. Tara, with her astral body, could have unlocked the door of Corbeck's room in the hotel and have locked it again after her exit with the lamps. She could, in the same way, have opened the window and put the lamps in the Boudoir. It need not have been that Margaret would have found the lamp. Fourthly, here are the suspicions of the detective and the doctor came back to me with renewed force, and with a larger understanding. Fifthly, there were the occasions in which Margaret foretold with accuracy the coming occasions of quiet to her. She would not have found the lamp. There were the occasions in which Margaret foretold with accuracy the coming occasions of quiet to her as though she had some conviction or knowledge of the intentions of the astral-bodied queen. Sixthly, there was her suggestion of the finding of the ruby which her father had lost. As I thought now afresh over this episode in the light of suspicion in which her own powers were involved, the only conclusion I could come to was, always supposing that the theory of the queen's astral power was correct, that Queen Tara, being anxious that all should go well in the movement from London to Kilian, had, in her own way, taken the jewel from Mr. Trelawney's pocket book, finding it of some use in her supernatural guardianship of the journey. Then in some mysterious way she had, through Margaret, made the suggestion of its loss and finding. Seventhly, and lastly, was the strange dual existence which Margaret seemed of late to be leading, and which in some way seemed a consequence or corollary of all that had gone before. The dual existence. This was indeed the conclusion which overcame all difficulties and reconciled opposites. If indeed Margaret were not in all ways a free agent, but could be compelled to speak or act as she might be instructed, or if her whole being could be changed for another without the possibility of anyone noticing the doing of it, then all things were possible. All would depend on the spirit of the individuality by which she could be so compelled. If this individuality were just and kind and clean, all might be well. But if not, the thought was too awful for words. I ground my teeth with futile rage as the ideas of horrible possibilities swept through me. Up to this morning Margaret's lapses into her new self had been few and hardly noticeable, save when once or twice her attitude towards myself had been marked by a bearing strange to me. But today the contrary was the case, and the change presaged badly. It might be that that other individuality was of the lower, not the better sort. Now that I thought of it I had reason to fear. In the history of the mummy, from the time of Van Hine's breaking into the tomb, the record of deaths that we knew of, presumably affected by her will and agency, was a startling one. The Arab who had stolen the hand from the mummy, and the one who had taken it from his body. The Arab chief who had tried to steal the jewel from Van Hine and whose throat bore the marks of seven fingers. The two men found dead on the first night of Trelawney's taking away the sarcophagus, and the three on the return to the tomb. The Arab who had opened the secret sardab. Nine dead men, one of them slain manifestly by the queen's own hand. And beyond this again the several savage attacks on Mr. Trelawney in his own room, in which, aided by her familiar, she had tried to open the safe and to extract the talisman jewel. His device of fastening the key to his wrist by a steel bangle, though successful in the end, had well nigh cost him his life. If then the queen, intent on her resurrection under her own conditions, had, so to speak, waited to it through blood, what might she not do were her purpose thwarted? What terrible step might she not take to affect her wishes? Nay, what were her wishes? What was her ultimate purpose? As yet we had had only Margaret's statement of them, given in all the glorious enthusiasm of her lofty soul. In her record there was no expression of love to be sought found. All we knew for certain was that she had set before her the object of resurrection, and that in it the north, which she had manifestly loved, was to have a special part. But that the resurrection was to be accomplished in the lonely tomb in the valley of the sorcerer was apparent. All preparations had been carefully made for accomplishment from in, and for her ultimate exit in her new and living form. The sarcophagus was unlitted. The oil jars, though hermetically sealed, were to be easily opened by hand, and in them provision was made for shrinkage through a vast period of time. Even flint and steel were provided for the production of flame. The mummy-pit was left open in violation of usage, and beside the stone door on the cliff side was fixed an imperishable chain by which she might in safety descend to earth. But as to what her after intentions were we had no clue. If it was that she meant to begin life again as a humble individual there was something so noble in the thought that it even warmed my heart to her and turned my heart to her success. The very idea seemed to endorse Margaret's magnificent tribute to her purpose, and help to calm my troubled spirit. Then and there, with this feeling strong upon me, I determined to warn Margaret and her father of dire possibilities, and to await as well content as I could in my ignorance the development of things over which I had no power. I returned to the house in a different frame of mind to that in which I had left it, and was enchanted to find Margaret, the old Margaret, waiting for me. After dinner, when I was alone for a time with the father and daughter, I opened the subject, though with considerable hesitation. Would it not be well to take every possible precaution in case the queen may not wish what we are doing with regard to what may occur before the experiment, and at or after her waking, if it comes off? Margaret's answer came back quickly, so quickly that I was convinced she must have had it ready for some one. But she does approve. Surely it cannot be otherwise. Father is doing, with all his brains and all his energy and all his great courage, just exactly what the great queen had arranged. But, I answered, that can hardly be. All that she arranged was in a tomb high up in a rock, in a desert solitude, shut away from the world by every conceivable means. She seems to have depended on this isolation to ensure against accident. Surely, here in another country and age, with quite different conditions, she may in her anxiety make mistakes and treat any of you, of us, as she did those others in times gone past. Nine men that we know of have been slain by her own hand or by her instigation. She can be remorseless, if she will. It did not strike me till afterwards when I was thinking over this conversation how thoroughly I had accepted the living and conscious condition of Queen Tara as a fact. Before I spoke I had feared I might offend Mr. Trelawney, but to my pleasant surprise he smiled quite genially as he answered me. My dear fellow, in a way you are quite right. The queen did undoubtedly intend isolation, and, all told, it would be best that her experiment should be made as she arranged it. But just think that became impossible when once the Dutch explorer had broken into her tomb. That was not my doing. I am innocent of it, though it was the cause of my setting out to rediscover the sepulcher. Mind, I do not say for a moment that I would not have done just the same as Van Hynne. I went into the tomb from curiosity, and I took away what I did, being fired with the zeal of acquisitiveness which animates the collector. But remember also that at this time I did not know of the queen's intention of resurrection. I had no idea of the completeness of her preparations. All that came long afterwards. But when it did come I have done all that I could to carry out her wishes to the full. My only fear is that I may have misinterpreted some of her cryptic instructions, or have omitted or overlooked something. But of this I am certain. I have left undone nothing that I can imagine right to be done, and I have done nothing that I know of to clash with Queen Tara's arrangement. I want her great experiment to succeed. To this end I have not spared labour or time or money or myself. I have endured hardship and brave danger. All my brains, all my knowledge and learning such as they are, all my endeavours such as they can be, have been, are, and shall be devoted to this end till we either win or lose the great stake that we play for. The great stake, I repeated, the resurrection of the woman and the woman's life, the proof that resurrection can be accomplished by magical powers, by scientific knowledge, or by use of some force which at present the world does not know? Then Mr. Trollani spoke out the hopes of his heart which up to now he had indicated rather than expressed. Once or twice I had heard Korbek speak of the fiery energy of his youth. But save for the noble words of Margaret when she had spoken of Queen Tara's hope, which coming from his daughter made possible a belief that her power was in some sense due to heredity, I had seen no marked sign of it. But now his words, sweeping before them like a torrent all antagonistic thought, gave me a new idea of the man. A Woman's Life What is a woman's life in the scale with what we hope for? Why, we are risking already a woman's life, the dearest life to me in all the world, and that grows more dear with every hour that passes. We are risking as well the lives of four men, yours and my own, as well as those two others who have been one to our confidence. The proof that resurrection can be accomplished. That is much. A marvelous thing in this age of science and the skepticism that knowledge makes. But life and resurrection are themselves but items in what may be won by the accomplishment of this great experiment. Imagine what it will be for the world of thought, the true world of human progress, the veritable road to the stars, the iturad astra of the ancients, if there can come back to us out of the unknown past one who can yield to us the lore stored in the great library of Alexandria and lost in its consuming flames. Not only history can be set right and the teachings of science made veritable from their beginnings, but we can be placed on the road to the knowledge of lost arts, lost learning, lost sciences, so that our feet may tread on the indicated path to their ultimate and complete restoration. Why, this woman can tell us what the world was like before what is called the flood, can give us the origin of that vast astounding myth, can set the mind back to the consideration of things which to us now seem primeval but which were old stories before the days of the patriarchs. But this is not the end. No, not even the beginning. If the story of this woman be all that we think, which some of us most firmly believe, if her powers and the restoration of them prove to be what we expect, why then we may yet achieve a knowledge beyond what our age has ever known, beyond what is believed today possible for the children of men. If indeed this resurrection can be accomplished, how can we doubt the old knowledge, the old magic, the old belief? And if this be so, we must take it that the Ka of this great and learned queen has won secrets of more than mortal worth from her surroundings amongst the stars. This woman in her life voluntarily went down living to the grave, and came back again as we learned from the records in her tomb. She chose to die her mortal death whilst young, so that as her resurrection in another age, beyond a trance of countless magnitude, she might emerge from her tomb in all the fullness and splendor of her youth and power. Already we have evidence that though her body slept in patience through those many centuries, her intelligence never passed away, that her resolution never flagged, that her will remained supreme, and most important of all, that her memory was unimpaired. Oh, what possibilities are there in the coming of such a being into our midst! One whose history began before the concrete teaching of our Bible, whose experiences were antecedent to the formulation of the gods of Greece, who can link together the old and the new, earth and heaven, and yield to the known worlds of thought and physical existence the mystery of the unknown, of the old world and its youth, and of worlds beyond our ken. He paused, almost overcome. Margaret had taken his hand when he spoke of her being so dear to him, and held it hard. As he spoke she continued to hold it. But there came over her face that change which I had so often seen of late, that mysterious veiling of her own personality which gave me the subtle sense of separation from her. In his impassioned vehemence her father did not notice, but when he stopped she would all at once to be herself again. In her glorious eyes came the added brightness of unshed tears, and with a gesture of passionate love and admiration she stooped and kissed her father's hand. Then, turning to me, she too spoke. Malcolm, you have spoken of the deaths that came from the poor queen, or rather that justly came meddling with her arrangements and thwarting her purpose. Do you not think that, in putting it as you have done, you have been unjust? Who would not have done just as she did? Remember, she was fighting for her life. I, and for more than her life. For life, and love, and all the glorious possibilities of that dim future in the unknown world of the North which had such enchanting hopes for her. Do you not think that she, with all the learning of her time, and with all the great and resistless force of her mighty nature, had hopes of spreading in a wider way the lofty aspirations of her soul? That she hoped to bring to the conquering of unknown worlds, and using to the advantage of her people all that she had won from a sleep and death and time, all of which might and could have been frustrated by the ruthless hand of an assassin or a thief. Were it you, in such case, would you not struggle by all means to achieve the object of your life and hope whose possibilities grew and grew in the passing of those endless years? Can you think that that active brain was at rest during all those weary centuries, whilst her free soul was flitting from world to world amongst the boundless regions of the stars? Had these stars in their myriad and varied life no lessons for her, as they have had for us, since we follow the glorious path which she and her people marked for us, when they sent their winged imaginations circling amongst the lamps of the night? Here she paused. She too was overcome, and the welling tears ran down her cheeks. I was myself more moved than I can say. This was indeed my Margaret, and in the consciousness of her presence my heart leapt. Out of my happiness came boldness, and I dared to say now what I had feared would be impossible, something which would call the attention of Mr. Trelawney to what I imagined was the dual existence of his daughter. As I took Margaret's hand in mine and kissed it, I said to her father, Why, sir, she couldn't speak more eloquently if the very spirit of Queen Tara was with her to animate her and suggest thoughts. Mr. Trelawney's answer simply overwhelmed me with surprise. It manifested to me that he too had gone through just such a process of thought as my own. And what if it was? If it is, I know well that the spirit of her mother is within her. If in addition there be the spirit of that great and wondrous Queen, then she would be no less dear to me, but doubly dear. Do not have fear for her, Malcolm Ross. At least have no more fear than you may have for the rest of us. Margaret took up the theme, speaking so quickly that her words seemed a continuation of her father's rather than an interruption of them. Have no special fear for me, Malcolm. Queen Tara knows, and will offer us no harm. I know it. I know it as surely as I am lost in the depth of my own love for you. There was something in her voice so strange to me that I looked quickly into her eyes. They were bright as ever, but veiled to my seeing the inward thought behind them, as are the eyes of a caged lion. Then the two other men came in, and the subject changed. CHAPTER 18 THE LESSEN OF THE CAR That night we all went to bed early. The next night would be an anxious one, and Mr. Trelawney thought that we should all be fortified with what sleep we could get. The day, too, would be full of work. Everything in connection with the great experiment would have to be gone over, so that at the last we might not fail from any unthought of flaw in our working. We made, of course, arrangements for summoning aid in case such should be needed, but I do not think that any of us had any real apprehension of danger. Certainly we had no fear of such danger from violence as we had had to guard against in London during Mr. Trelawney's long trance. For my own part I felt a strange sense of relief in the matter. I had accepted Mr. Trelawney's reasoning that if the Queen were indeed such as we surmised, such as indeed we now took for granted, there would not be any opposition on her part, for we were carrying out her own wishes to the very last. So far I was at ease, far more at ease than earlier in the day I could have thought possible, but there were other sources of trouble which I could not blot out from my mind. Chief amongst them was Margaret's strange condition. If it was indeed that she had in her own person a dual existence, what might happen when the two existences became one? Again and again and again I turned this matter over in my mind till I could have shrieked out in nervous anxiety. It was no consolation to me to remember that Margaret was herself satisfied and her father acquiescent. Love is, after all, a selfish thing, and it throws a black shadow on anything between which and the light it stands. I seemed to hear the hands go round the dial of the clock. I saw darkness turn to gloom, and gloom to gray, and gray to light without pause or hindrance to the succession of my miserable feelings. At last, when it was decently possible without the fear of disturbing others, I got up. I crept along the passage to find if all was well with the others, for we had arranged that the door of each of our rooms should be left slightly open so that any sound of disturbance would be easily and distinctly heard. One and all slept. I could hear the regular breathing of each, and my heart rejoiced that this miserable night of anxiety was safely passed. As I knelt in my own room in a burst of thankful prayer I knew in the depths of my own heart the measure of my fear. I found my way out of the house and went down to the water by the long stairway cut in the rock. A swim in the cool bright sea braced my nerves and made me my old self again. As I came back to the top of the steps I could see the bright sunlight rising from behind me, turning the rocks across the bay to glittering gold. And yet I felt somehow disturbed. It was all too bright, as it sometimes is before the coming of a storm. As I paused to watch it I felt a soft hand in my shoulder, and turning found Margaret close to me, Margaret as bright and radiant as the morning glory of the sun. It was my own Margaret this time, my old Margaret without alloy of any other, and I felt that at least this last and fatal day was well begun. But alas! the joy did not last. When we got back to the house from a stroll around the cliffs the same old routine of yesterday was resumed. Gloom and anxiety, hope, high spirits, deep depression, and apathetic aloofness. But it was to be a day of work and we all braced ourselves to it with an energy which wrought its own salvation. After breakfast we all adjourned to the cave where Mr. Trelawney went over, point by point, the position of each item of our paraphernalia. He explained as he went on why each piece was so placed. He had with him the great rolls of paper with the measured plans and the signs and drawings which he had had made from his own and Corbeck's rough notes. As he had told us these contained the whole of the hieroglyphics on walls and ceilings and floor of the tomb in the valley of the sorcerer. Even had not the measurements made to scale recorded the position of each piece of furniture we could have eventually placed them by a study of the cryptic writings and symbols. Mr. Trelawney explained to us certain other things not laid down on the chart. Such as, for instance, that the hollowed part of the table was exactly fitted to the bottom of the magic coffer which was therefore intended to be placed on it. The respective legs of this table were indicated by differently shaped urii outlined on the floor, the head of each being extended in the direction of the similar urius twined around the leg. Also that the mummy, when laid on the raised portion in the bottom of the sarcophagus, seemingly made to fit the form, would lie head to the west and feet to the east, thus receiving the natural earth currents. If this be intended, he said, as I presume it is, I gather that the force to be used has something to do with magnetism or electricity or both. It may be, of course, that some other force, such, for instance, as that emanating from radium, is to be employed. I have experimented with a ladder but only in such small quantity as I could obtain. But so far as I can ascertain, the stone of the coffer is absolutely impervious to its influence. There must be some such unsusceptible substances in nature. Radium does not seemingly manifest itself when distributed through pitch blend, and there are doubtless other such substances in which it can be imprisoned. Possibly these may belong to that class of inert elements discovered or isolated by Sir William Ramsey. It is therefore possible that in this coffer, made from an aerolite and therefore perhaps containing some element unknown in our world, may be imprisoned some mighty power which is to be released on its opening. This appeared to be an end of this branch of the subject, but as he still kept the fixed look of one who is engaged in a theme, we all waited in silence. After a pause, he went on, There is one thing which has up to now, I confess, puzzled me. It may not be of prime importance, but in a matter like this, where all is unknown, we must take it that everything is important. I cannot think that in a matter worked out with such extraordinary scrupulosity such a thing should be overlooked. As you may see by the ground-plan of the tomb, the sarcophagus stands near the north wall, with the magic coffer to the south of it. The space covered by the former is left quite bare of symbol or ornamentation of any kind. At the first glance this would seem to imply that the drawings had been made after the sarcophagus had been put into its place. But a more minute examination will show that the symbolization on the floor is so arranged that a definite effect is produced. See here the writings run in correct order as though they had jumped across the gap. It is only from certain effects that it becomes clear that there is a meaning of some kind. What that meaning may be is what we want to know. Look at the top and bottom of the vacant space which lies west and east corresponding to the head and foot of the sarcophagus. In both are duplications of the same symbolization, but so arranged that the parts of each one of them are integral portions of some other writing running crosswise. It is only when we get a coup d'oeuvre from either the head or the foot that you recognize that there are symbolizations. See, they are in triplicate at the corners and the center of both top and bottom. In every case there is a sun cut in half by the line of the sarcophagus as by the horizon. Close behind each of these and faced away from it, as though in some way dependent on it, is the vase which in hieroglyphic writing symbolizes the heart. Ab, the Egyptians called it. Beyond each of these again is the figure of a pair of widespread arms turned upwards from the elbow. This is the determinative of the ca, or double, but its relative position is different at top and bottom. At the head of the sarcophagus the top of the ca is turned towards the mouth of the vase, but at the foot the extended arms point away from it. The symbolization seems to mean that during the passing of the sun from west to east, from sunset to sunrise, or through the underworld, otherwise night, the heart, which is material even in the tomb and cannot leave it, simply revolves so that it can always rest on Ra, the sun god, the origin of all good, but that the double, which represents the active principle, goes wither at will, the same by night as by day. If this be correct it is a warning, a caution, a reminder that the consciousness of the mummy does not rest but is to be reckoned with. Or it may be intended to convey that after the particular night of the resurrection the ca would leave the heart altogether, thus typifying that in her resurrection the queen would be restored to a lower and purely physical existence. In such case what would become of her memory and the experiences of her wide-wandering soul? The chiefest value of her resurrection would be lost to the world. This, however, does not alarm me. It is only guesswork, after all, and is contradictory to the intellectual belief of the Egyptian theology that the ca is an essential portion of humanity. He paused and we all waited. The silence was broken by Dr. Winchester. But would not all this imply that the queen feared intrusion of her tomb? Mr. Trelawney smiled, as he answered. My dear sir, she was prepared for it. The grave robber is no modern application of endeavor. He was probably known in the queen's own dynasty. Not only was she prepared for intrusion, but as shown in several ways she expected it. The hiding of the lamps in the Sardab and the institution of the avenging treasurer shows that there is defense, positive as well as negative. Indeed, from the many indications afforded in the clues laid out with the most consummated thought we may almost gather that she entertained it as a possibility that others, like ourselves, for instance, might in all seriousness undertake the work which she had made ready for her own hands when the time should have come. This very matter that I have been thinking of is an instance. The clue is intended for seeing eyes. Again we were silent. It was Margaret who spoke. Father, may I have that chart? I should like to study it during the day. Certainly, my dear, answered Mr. Trelawney heartily as he handed it to her. He resumed his instructions in a different tone, a more better of fact one suitable to a practical theme which had no mystery about it. I think you had better all understand the working of the electric light in case any sudden contingency should arise. I dare say you have noticed that we have a complete supply in every part of the house, so that there need not be a dark corner anywhere. This I had specially arranged. It is worked by a set of turbines moved by the flowing and ebbing tide after the manner of the turbines at Niagara. I hope by this means to nullify accident and to have without fail a full supply ready at any time. Come with me and I will explain the system of circuits and point out to you the taps and the fuses. I could not but notice, as we went with him all over the house, how absolutely complete the system was and how he had guarded himself against any disaster that human thought could foresee. But out of the very completeness came a fear. In such an enterprise as ours the bounds of human thought were but narrow. Beyond it lay the vast of divine wisdom and divine power. When we came back to the cave Mr. Trelawney took up another theme. We have now to settle definitely the exact hour at which the great experiment is to be made. So far as science and mechanism go, if the preparations are complete all ours are the same. But as we have had to deal with preparations made by a woman of extraordinarily subtle mind, and who had full belief in magic and had a cryptic meaning in everything, we should place ourselves in her position before deciding. It is now manifest that the sunset has an important place in the arrangements. As those suns, cut so mathematically by the edge of the sarcophagus, were arranged of full design we must take our cue from this. Again we find all along that the number seven has had an important bearing on every phase of the queen's thought and reasoning and action. The logical result is that the seventh hour after sunset was the time fixed on. This is borne out by the fact that on each of the occasions when action was taken in my house, this was the time chosen. As the sun sets tonight in Cornwall at eight, our hour is to be three in the morning. He spoke in a matter of fact way, though with great gravity, but there was nothing of mystery in his word or manner. Still we were all impressed to a remarkable degree. I could see this in the other men by the pallor that came on some of their faces, and by the stillness and unquestioning silence with which the decision was received. The only one who remained in any way at ease was Margaret, who had lapsed into one of her moods of abstraction, but who seemed to wake up to a note of gladness. Her father, who was watching her intently, smiled. Her mood was to him a direct confirmation of his theory. For myself I was almost overcome. The definite fixing of the hour seemed like the voice of doom. When I think of it now I can realize how a condemned man feels at his sentence, or at the sounding of the last hour he is to hear. There could be no going back now. We were in the hands of God. The hands of God. And yet what other forces were arrayed? What would become of us all, poor Adams of earthly dust, world in the wind which cometh wence and goeth wither no man may know? It was not for myself, Margaret. I was recalled by Mr. Trelawney's firm voice. Now we shall see to the lamps and finish our preparations. Accordingly we set to work, and under his supervision made ready the Egyptian lamps, seeing that they were well filled with the cedar oil, and that the wicks were adjusted and in good order. We lighted and tested them one by one, and left them ready so that they would light at once and evenly. When this was done we had a general look around, and fixed all in readiness for our work at night. All this had taken time, and we were, I think, all surprised when, as we emerged from the cave, we heard the great clock in the hall chime four. We had a late lunch, a thing possible without trouble in the present state of our commissariat arrangements. After it, by Mr. Trelawney's advice, we separated, each to prepare in our own way for the strain of the coming night. Margaret looked pale and somewhat overwrought, so I advised her to lie down and try to sleep. She promised that she would. The abstraction which had been upon her fitfully all day lifted for the time. With all her old sweetness and loving mercy she kissed me good-bye for the present. With the sense of happiness which this gave me I went out for a walk on the cliffs. I did not want to think, and I had an instinctive feeling that fresh air and God's sunlight and the myriad beauties of the works of his hand would be the best preparation of fortitude for what was to come. When I got back all the party were assembling for a late T. Coming fresh from the exhilaration of nature it struck me as almost comic that we, who were nearing the end of so strange, almost monstrous, and undertaking, should be yet bound by the needs and habits of our lives. All the men of the party were grave. The time of seclusion, even if it had given them rest, had also given them an opportunity for thought. Margaret was bright, almost buoyant, but I missed about her something of her usual spontaneity. Towards myself there was a shadowy air of reserve which brought back something of my suspicion. When tea was over she went out of the room, but returned in a minute with the roll of drawing which she had taken with her earlier in the day. Coming close to Mr. Trelawney she said, Father, I have been carefully considering what you said today about the hidden meaning of those sons and hearts and cause, and I have been examining the drawings again. And with what result, my child? asked Mr. Trelawney eagerly. There is another reading possible. And that, his voice was now tremulous with anxiety, Margaret spoke with a strange ring in her voice, a ring that cannot be, unless there is the consciousness of truth behind it. It means that at the sunset the ca is to enter the ob, and it is only at the sunrise that it will leave it. Go on, said her father, hoarsely. It means that for this night the queen's double, which is otherwise free, will remain in her heart, which is mortal and cannot leave its prison-place in the mummy-shrouding. It means that when the sun has dropped into the sea, queen terror will cease to exist as a conscious power till sunrise, unless the great experiment can recall her to waking life. It means that there will be nothing whatever for you or others to fear from her in such way as we have all caused to remember. Whatever change may come from the working of the great experiment, there can come none from the poor, helpless, dead woman who has waited all those centuries for this night, who has given up to the coming hour all the freedom of eternity, one in the old way, in hope of a new life, in a new world such as she longed for. She stopped suddenly. As she had gone on speaking there had come with her words a strange, pathetic, almost pleading tone which touched me to the quick. As she stopped I could see, before she turned away her head, that her eyes were full of tears. For once the heart of her father did not respond to her feeling. He looked exultant, but with a grim masterfulness which reminded me of the set look of his stern face as he had lain in the trance. He did not offer any consolation to his daughter in her sympathetic pain. He only said, We may test the accuracy of your surmise and of her feeling when the time comes. Having said so he went up the stone stairway and into his own room. Margaret's face had a troubled look as she gazed after him. Strangely enough her trouble did not as usual touch me to the quick. When Mr. Trelawney had gone silence reigned. I do not think that any of us wanted to talk. Presently Margaret went to her room and I went out on the terrace over the sea. The fresh air and the beauty of all before helped to restore the good spirits which I had known her in the day. Presently I felt myself actually rejoicing in the belief that the danger which I had feared from the Queen's violence on the coming night was obviated. I believed in Margaret's belief so thoroughly that it did not occur to me to dispute her reasoning. In a lofty frame of mind and with less anxiety than I had felt for days I went to my room and lay down on the sofa. I was awaked by Corbett calling to me hardly. Come down to the cave as quickly as you can. Mr. Trelawney wants to see us all there at once. Hurry! I jumped up and ran down to the cave. All were there except Margaret who came immediately after me carrying Silvio in her arms. When the cat saw his old enemy he struggled to get down but Margaret held him fast and soothed him. I looked at my watch. It was close to eight. When Margaret was with us her father said directly, with a quiet insistence which was new to me, You believe, Margaret, that Queen Tara has voluntarily undertaken to give up her freedom for this night? To become a mummy and nothing more till the experiment has been completed? To be content that she shall be powerless under all and any circumstances until after all is over and the act of resurrection has been accomplished or the effort has failed? After a pause Margaret answered in a low voice. Yes. In the pause her whole being, appearance, expression, voice, manner had changed. Even Silvio noticed it and with a violent effort wriggled away from her arms. She did not seem to notice the act. I expected that the cat, when he had achieved his freedom, would have attacked the mummy, but on this occasion he did not. He seemed too cowed to approach it. He shrunk away and with a piteous meow came over and rubbed himself against my ankles. I took him up in my arms and he nestled there content. Mr. Trelawney spoke again. You are sure of what you say? You believe it, with all your soul? Margaret's face had lost the abstracted look. It now seemed illuminated with the devotion of one to whom is given to speak of great things. She answered in a voice which, though quiet, vibrated with conviction. I know it. My knowledge is beyond belief. Mr. Trelawney spoke again. Then you are so sure that were you Queen Tara herself you would be willing to prove it in any way that I might suggest? Yes, any way. The answer rang out fearlessly. He spoke again in a voice in which was no note of doubt. Even in the abandonment of your familiar to death, to annihilation? She paused and I could see that she suffered, suffered horribly. There was in her eyes a hunted look which no man can, unmoved, see in the eyes of his beloved. I was about to interrupt when her father's eyes, glancing round with a fierce determination, met mine. I stood silent, almost spellbound. So also the other men. Something was going on before us which we did not understand. With a few long strides Mr. Trelawney went to the west side of the cave and tore back the shutter which obscured the window. The cool air blew in and the sunlight streamed over them both for Margaret was now by his side. He pointed to where the sun was sinking into the sea in a halo of golden fire and his face was as set as flint. In a voice whose absolute uncompromising hardness I shall hear in my ears at times till my dying day he said, Choose! Speak! When the sun has dipped below the sea it will be too late. The glory of the dying sun seemed to light up Margaret's face till it shone as if lit from within by a noble light as she answered, Even that! Then stepping over to where the mummy-cat stood on the little table she placed her hand on it. She had now left the sunlight and the shadows looked dark and deep over her. In a clear voice she said, Where I, Tara, I would say take all I have. This night is for the gods alone. As she spoke the sun dipped and the cold shadows suddenly fell on us. We all stood still for a while. Silvio jumped from my arms and ran over to his mistress, rearing himself up against her dress as if asking to be lifted. He took no notice whatever of the mummy now. Margaret was glorious with all her wanted sweetness, as she said sadly. The sun is down, Father. Shall any of us see it again? The night of nights is come. End of CHAPTER 18 19 THE GREAT EXPERIMENT If any evidence had been wanted of how absolutely one and all of us had come to believe in the spiritual existence of the Egyptian queen, it would have been found in the change which in a few minutes had been effected in us by the statement of voluntary negation made, we all believed, through Margaret. Despite the coming of the fearful ordeal, the sense of which it was impossible to forget, we looked and acted as though a great relief had come to us. We had indeed lived in such a state of terrorism during the days when Mr. Trelawney was lying in a trance that the feeling had bitten deeply into us. No one knows till he has experienced it what it is to be in constant dread of some unknown danger which may come at any time and in any form. The change was manifested in different ways according to each nature. Margaret was sad. Dr. Winchester was in high spirits and keenly observant. The process of thought which had served as an antidote to fear being now relieved from this duty added to his intellectual enthusiasm. Mr. Korbeck seemed to be in a retrospective rather than a speculative mood. I was myself rather inclined to be gay. The relief from certain anxiety regarding Margaret was sufficient for me for the time. As to Mr. Trelawney he seemed less changed than any. Perhaps this was only natural, as he had had in his mind the intention for so many years of doing that in which we were tonight engaged, that any event connected with it could only seem to him as an episode, a step to the end. His was that commanding nature which looked so to the end of an undertaking that all else is of secondary importance. Even now, though his terrible sternness relaxed under the relief from the strain, he never flagged nor faltered for a moment in his purpose. He asked us men to come with him, and going to the hall we presently managed to lower into the cave an oak table, fairly long and not too wide, which stood against the wall in the hall. This we placed under the strong cluster of electric lights in the middle of the cave. Margaret looked on for a while, then all at once her face blanched, and in an agitated voice she said, What are you going to do, father? To unroll the mummy of the cat. Queen Tara will not need her familiar to-night. If she should want him, it might be dangerous to us, so we shall make him safe. You are not alarmed, dear? Oh, no! she answered quickly. But I was thinking of my Silvio, and how I should feel if he had been the mummy that was to be unswathed. Mr. Trelani got knives and scissors ready, and placed the cat on the table. It was a grim beginning to our work, and it made my heart sink when I thought of what might happen in that lonely house in the mid-gloom of the night. The sense of loneliness and isolation from the world was increased by the moaning of the wind which had now risen ominously, and by the beating of waves on the rocks below. But we had too grave a task before us to be swayed by external manifestations. The unrolling of the mummy began. There was an incredible number of bandages, and the tearing sound they being stuck fast to each other by bitumen and gums and spices, and the little cloud of red pungent dust that arose pressed on the senses of all of us. As the last wrappings came away we saw the animal seated before us. He was all hunkered up, his hair and teeth and claws were complete. The eyes were closed, but the eyelids had not the fierce look which I expected. The whiskers had been pressed down on the side of the face by the bandaging, but when the pressure was taken away they stood out, just as they would have done in life. He was a magnificent creature, a tiger-cat of great size. But as we looked at him our first glance of admiration changed to one of fear, and a shudder ran through each one of us, for here was a confirmation of the fears which we had endured. His mouth and his claws were smeared with the dry red stains of recent blood. Dr. Winchester was the first to recover. Blood in itself had small disturbing quality for him. He had taken out his magnifying glass and was examining the stains in the cat's mouth. Mr. Trelawney breathed loudly as though a strain had been taken from him. It is as I expected, he said, this promise is well for what is to follow. By this time Dr. Winchester was looking at the red stained paws. As I expected, he said, he has seven claws too. Opening his pocketbook he took out the piece of blotting paper marked by Silvio's claws, on which was also marked in pencil a diagram of the cuts made on Mr. Trelawney's wrist. He placed the paper under the mummy cat's paw. The marks fitted exactly. When we had carefully examined the cat, finding, however, nothing strange about it, but its wonderful preservation, Mr. Trelawney lifted it from the table. Margaret started forward, crying out, Take care, Father! Take care! He may injure you! Not now, my dear, he answered as he moved towards the stairway. Her face fell. Where are you going? she asked in a faint voice. To the kitchen, he answered. Fire will take away all danger for the future. Even an astral body cannot materialize from ashes. He signed to us to follow him. Margaret turned away with a sob. I went to her, but she motioned me back and whispered, No, no! Go with the others. Father may want you. Oh, it seems like murder! The poor queen's pet! The tears were dropping from under the fingers that covered her eyes. In the kitchen was a fire of wood ready laid. To this Mr. Trelawney applied a match. In a few seconds the kindling had caught and the flames leaped. When the fire was solidly ablaze he threw the body of the cat into it. For a few seconds it lay a dark mass amidst the flames and the room was ranked with the smell of burning hair. Then the dry body caught fire too. The inflammable substances used in embalming became new fuel and the flames roared. A few minutes of fierce conflagration and then we breathed freely. Queen Tara's familiar was no more. When we went back to the cave we found Margaret sitting in the dark. She had switched off the electric light and only a faint glow of the evening light came through the narrow openings. Her father went quickly over to her and put his arms around her in a loving protective way. She laid her head in his shoulder for a minute and seemed comforted. Presently she called to me. Malcolm, turn up the light! I carried out her orders and could see that, though she had been crying, her eyes were now dry. Her father saw it too and looked glad. He said to us in a grave tone, Now we had better prepare for our great work. It will not do to leave anything to the last. Margaret must have had a suspicion of what was coming, for it was with a sinking voice that she asked, What are you going to do now? Mr. Trelawney too must have had a suspicion of her feelings, for he answered in a low tone, To unroll the mummy of Queen Tara. She came close to him and said pleadingly in a whisper, Father, you are not going to unswath her. All you men, and in the glare of light. But why not, my dear? Just think, Father, a woman, all alone, in such a way, in such a place. Oh, it's cruel, cruel! She was manifestly much overcome. Her cheeks were flaming red, and her eyes were full of indignant tears. Her father saw her distress, and, sympathizing with it, began to comfort her. I was moving off, but he signed to me to stay. I took it that after the usual manner of men he wanted help on such an occasion, and men like wish to throw on someone else the mask of dealing with a woman in indignant distress. However, he began to appeal first to her reason. Not a woman, dear, a mummy. She has been dead nearly five thousand years. What does that matter? Sex is not a matter of years. A woman is a woman, if she had been dead five thousand centuries. And do you expect her to arise out of that long sleep? It could not be real death if she is to rise out of it. You have led me to believe that she will come alive when the coffer is opened. I did, my dear, and I believe it. But if it isn't death that has been the matter with her all these years, it is something uncommonly like it. Then again, just think, it was men who embalmed her. They didn't have women's rights or lady doctors in ancient Egypt, my dear. And besides, he went on more freely seeing that she was accepting his argument, if not yielding to it, we men are accustomed to such things. Korbeck and I have unrolled a hundred mummies, and there were as many women as men amongst them. Dr. Winchester in his work has had to deal with women as well as men, till customers made him think nothing of sex. Even Ross has in his work as a barrister. He stopped suddenly. You were going to help too, she said to me with an indignant look. I said nothing. I thought silence was best. Mr. Trelawney went on hurriedly. I could see that he was glad of interruption for the part of his argument concerning a barrister's work was becoming decidedly weak. My child, you will be with us yourself. Would we do anything which would hurt or offend you? Come now. Be reasonable. We are not at a pleasure party. We are all grave men, entering gravely on an experiment which may unfold the wisdom of old times, and enlarge human knowledge indefinitely, which may put the minds of men on new tracks of thought and research. An experiment, as he went on his voice deepened, which may be fraught with death to any one of us, to us all. We know from what has been, that there are or may be, vast and unknown dangers ahead of us, of which none in this house to-day may ever see the end. Take it, my child, that we are not acting lightly, but with all the gravity of deeply earnest men. Besides, my dear, whatever feelings you or any of us may have on the subject, it is necessary for the success of the experiment to unswath her. I think that under any circumstances it would be necessary to remove the wrappings before she became again a live human being instead of a spiritualized corpse with an astral body. Were her original intentions carried out, and did she come to new life within her mummy wrappings, it might be to exchange a coffin for a grave. She would die the death of the buried alive. But now, when she is voluntarily abandoned for the time her astral power, there can be no doubt on the subject. Margaret's face cleared. All right, father, she said as she kissed him, but oh, it seems horrible indignity to a queen and a woman. I was moving away to the staircase when she called me. Where are you going? I came back and took her hand and stroked it, as I answered. I shall come back when the unrolling is over. She looked at me long and a faint suggestion of a smile came over her face, as she said. Perhaps you had better stay, too. It may be useful to you in your work as a barrister. She smiled out as she met my eyes. But in an instant she changed. Her face grew grave and deadly white. In a faraway voice she said, Father is right. It is a terrible occasion. We need all to be serious over it. But all the same, nay, for that very reason you had better stay, Malcolm. May be glad, later on, that you were present tonight. My heart sank down, down, at her words, but I thought it better to say nothing. Fear was stocking openly enough amongst us already. By this time Mr. Trelawney, assisted by Mr. Korbeck and Dr. Winchester, had raised the lid of the ironstone sarcophagus which contained the mummy of the queen. It was a large one, but it was none too big. The mummy was both long and broad and high, and was of such weight that it was no easy task, even for the four of us, to lift it out. Under Mr. Trelawney's direction, we laid it out on the table prepared for it. Then and then only did the full horror of the whole thing burst upon me. There, in the full glare of the light, the whole material and sordid side of death seemed steringly real. The outer wrappings, torn and loosened by rude touch, and with the color either darkened by dust or worn light by friction, seemed creased as by rough treatment. The jagged edges of the wrapping-cloth looked fringed. The painting was patchy, and the varnish chipped. The coverings were evidently many, for the bulk was great. But through all showed that unheidable human figure, which seems to look more horrible when partially concealed than at any other time. What was before us was death and nothing else. All the romance and sentiment of fancy had disappeared. The two elder men, enthusiasts who had often done such work, were not disconcerted, and Dr. Winchester seemed to hold himself in a business-like attitude as if before the operating table. But I felt low-spirited and miserable and ashamed, and besides I was pained and alarmed by Margaret's ghastly pallor. Then the work began. The unrolling of the mummy-cat had prepared me somewhat for it, but this was so much larger and so infinitely more elaborate that it seemed a different thing. Moreover, in addition to the ever-present sense of death and humanity, there was a feeling of something finer in all this. The cat had been embalmed with coarser materials. Here, all, when once the outer coverings were removed, was more delicately done. It seemed as if only the finest gums and spices had been used in this embalming. But there were the same surroundings, the same attendant red dust and pungent presence of bitumen. There was the same sound of rending which marked the tearing away of the bandages. There were an enormous number of these, and their bulk, when opened, was great. As the men unrolled them, I grew more and more excited. I did not take a pardon at myself, Margaret had looked at me gratefully as I drew back. We clasped hands and held each other hard. As the unrolling went on, the wrappings became finer and the smell less laden with bitumen but more pungent. We all, I think, began to feel it as though it caught or touched us in some special way. This, however, did not interfere with the work. It went on uninterruptedly. Some of the inner wrappings bore symbols or pictures. These were done sometimes holy in pale green color, sometimes in many colors, but always with a prevalence of green. Now and again Mr. Trelawney or Mr. Korbeck would point out some special drawing before laying the bandage on the pile behind them which kept growing to a monstrous height. At last we knew that the wrappings were coming to an end. Already the proportions were reduced to those of a normal figure of the manifest height of the Queen, who was more than average height. And as the end drew nearer, so Margaret's pallor grew, and her heart beat more and more wildly till her breast heaved in a way that frightened me. Just as her father was taking away the last of the bandages, he happened to look up and caught the pained and anxious look of her pale face. He paused, and taking her concern to be as to the outrage on modesty, said in a comforting way, Do not be uneasy, dear. See, there is nothing to harm you. The Queen has on a robe. I, and a royal robe, too. The wrapping was a wide piece the whole length of the body. It being removed, a profusely full robe of white linen had appeared, covering the body from the throat to the feet. And such linen! We all bent over to look at it. Margaret lost her concern in her woman's interest in fine stuff. Then the rest of us looked with admiration, for surely such linen was never seen by the eyes of our age. It was as fine as the finest silk. But never was spun or woven silk which lay in such gracious folds, constrict though they were by the close wrappings of the mummy cloth, and fixed into hardness by the passing of thousands of years. Round the neck it was delicately embroidered in pure gold with tiny sprays of sycamore, and round the feet, similarly worked, was an endless line of lotus plants of unequal height, and with all the graceful abandon of natural growth. Across the body, but manifestly not surrounding it, was a girdle of jewels. A wondrous girdle which shone and glowed with all the forms and phases and colors of the sky. The buckle was a great yellow stone, round of outline, deep and curved, as if a yielding globe had been pressed down. It shone and glowed as though a veritable sun lay within. The rays of its light seemed to strike out and illumine all around. Flanking it were two great moonstones of lesser size, whose glowing, beside the glory of the sunstone, was like the silvery sheen of moonlight. And then on either side, linked by golden clasps of exquisite shape, was a line of flaming jewels of which the colors seemed to glow. Each of these stones seemed to hold a living star which twinkled in every phase of changing light. Margaret raised her hands in ecstasy. She bent over to examine more closely, but suddenly drew back and stood fully erect at her grand height. She seemed to speak with a conviction of absolute knowledge, as she said, That is no searmint. It was not meant for the clothing of death. It is a marriage robe. Mr. Trelawney leaned over and touched the linen robe. He lifted a fold at the neck, and I knew from the quick intake of his breath that something had surprised him. He lifted yet a little more, and then he too stood back and pointed, saying, Margaret is right! That dress is not intended to be worn by the dead. See? Her figure is not robed in it. It is but laid upon her. He lifted the zone of jewels and handed it to Margaret. Then with both hands he raised the ample robe and laid it across the arms which she extended in a natural impulse. Things of such beauty were too precious to be handled with any, but the greatest care. We all stood awed at the beauty of the figure which, save for the face-cloth, now lay completely nude before us. Mr. Trelawney bent over and with hands that trembled slightly raised this linen cloth which was of the same fineness as the robe. As he stood back and the whole glorious beauty of the queen was revealed, I felt a rush of shame sweep over me. It was not right that we should be there gazing with irreverent eyes on such unclad beauty. It was indecent. It was almost sacrilegious. And yet the white wonder of that beautiful form was something to dream of. It was not like death at all. It was like a statue carving in ivory by the hand of praxiteles. There was nothing of that horrible shrinkage which death seems to affect in a moment. There was none of the wrinkled toughness which seems to be a leading characteristic of most mummies. There was not the shrunken attenuation of a body dried in the sand as I had seen before in museums. All the pores of the body seemed to have been preserved in some wonderful way. The flesh was full and round as in a living person and the skin was as smooth as satin. The color seemed extraordinary. It was like ivory, new ivory, except with the right arm with shattered blood-stained wrist and missing hand had lain bare to exposure in the sarcophagus for so many tens of centuries. With a womanly impulse, with a mouth that drooped with pity, with eyes that flashed with anger and cheeks that flamed, Margaret threw over the body the beautiful robe which lay across her arm. Only the face was then to be seen. This was more startling even than the body, for it seemed not dead but alive. The eyelids were closed, but the long black curling lashes lay over on the cheeks. The nostrils, said in grave pride, seemed to have the repose which, when it is seen in life, is greater than the repose of death. The full red lips, though the mouth was not open, showed the tiniest white line of pearly teeth within. Her hair, glorious in quantity and glossy black as the raven's wing, was piled in great masses over the white forehead on which a few curling tresses strayed like tendrils. I was amazed at the likeness to Margaret, though I had had my mind prepared for this by Mr. Korbeck's quotation of her father's statement. This woman, I could not think of her as a mummy or a corpse, was the image of Margaret as my eyes had first lit on her. The likeness was increased by the jeweled ornament which she wore in her hair, the disc and plumes, such as Margaret too had worn. It, too, was a glorious jewel, one noble pearl of moonlight luster flanked by carven pieces of moonstone. Mr. Trelawney was overcome as he looked. He quite broke down, and when Margaret flew to him and held him close in her arms and comforted him, I heard him murmur brokenly. It looks as if you were dead, my child. There was a long silence. I could hear without the roar of the wind which was now risen to a tempest and the furious dashing of the waves far below. Mr. Trelawney's voice broke the spell. Later on we must try and find out the process of embalming. It is not like any that I know. There does not seem to have been any opening cut for the withdrawing of the viscera and organs which apparently remain intact within the body. Then again there is no moisture in the flesh, but its place is supplied with something else, as though wax or sterin had been conveyed into the veins by some subtle process. I wonder could it be possible that at that time they could have used paraffin? It might have been by some process that we know not pumped into the veins where it hardened. Margaret, having thrown a white sheet over the Queen's body, asked us to bring it to her own room where we laid it on her bed. Then she sent us away, saying, Leave her alone with me. There are still many hours to pass and I do not like to leave her lying there, all stark in the glare of light. This may be the bridle she prepared for, the bridle of death, and at least she shall wear her pretty robes. When presently she brought me back to her room the dead Queen was dressed in the robe of fine linen with the embroidery of gold and all her beautiful jewels were in place. Candles were lit around her and white flowers lay upon her breast. Hand in hand we stood looking at her for a while. Then with a sigh Margaret covered her with one of her own snowy sheets. She turned away and after softly closing the door of the room went back with me to the others who had now come into the dining-room. Here we all began to talk over the things that had been and that were to be. Now and again I could feel that one or other of us was forcing conversation as if we were not sure of ourselves. The long wait was beginning to tell on our nerves. It was apparent to me that Mr. Trelawney had suffered in that strange trance more than we suspected or than he cared to show. True his will and his determination were as strong as ever, but the purely physical side of him had been weakened somewhat. It was indeed only natural that it should be. No man can go through a period of four days of absolute negation of life without being weakened by it somehow. As the hours crept by the time passed more and more slowly. The other men seemed to get unconsciously a little drowsy. I wondered if in the case of Mr. Trelawney and Mr. Korbeck, who had already been under the hypnotic influence of the Queen, the same dormance was manifesting itself. Dr. Winchester had periods of distraction which grew longer and more frequent as the time wore on. As to Margaret the suspense told on her exceedingly, as might have been expected in the case of a woman. She grew paler and paler still, till at last, about midnight, I began to be seriously alarmed about her. I got her to come into the library with me, and tried to make her lie down on a sofa for a little while. As Mr. Trelawney had decided that the experiment was to be made exactly at the seventh hour after sunset, it would be as nearly as possible three o'clock in the morning when the great trial should be made. Even allowing a whole hour for the final preparations, we had still two hours of waiting to go through and I promised faithfully to watch her and to wake her at any time she might name. She would not hear of it, however. She thanked me sweetly and smiled at me as she did so, but she assured me that she was not sleepy and that she was quite able to bear up, that it was only the suspense and excitement of waiting that made her pale. I agreed, perforce, but I kept her talking of many things in the library for more than an hour, so that at last, when she insisted on going back to her father's room, I felt that I had at least done something to help her pass the time. We found the three men sitting patiently in silence. With manlike fortitude they were content to be still when they felt they had done all in their power. And so we waited. The striking of two o'clock seemed to freshen us all up. Whatever shadows had been settling over us during the long hours proceeding seemed to lift at once, and we went about our separate duties alert and with alacrity. We looked first to the windows to see that they were closed and we got ready our respirators to put them on when the time should be close at hand. We had from the first arranged to use them, for we did not know whether some noxious fume might not come from the magic coffer when it should be opened. Somehow it never seemed to occur to any of us that there was any doubt as to its opening. Then, under Margaret's guidance, we carried the mummied body of Queen Tara from her room into her father's and laid it on a couch. We put the sheet lightly over it so that if she should wake she could at once slip from under it. The severed hand was placed in its true position on her breast, and under it the jewel of seven stars which Mr. Trelawney had taken from the Great Safe. It seemed to flash and blaze as he put it in its place. It was a strange sight and a strange experience. The group of grave silent men carried the white still figure which looked like an ivory statue when, through our moving the sheet, fell back away from the lighted candles and the white flowers. We placed it on the couch in that other room where the blaze of the electric lights shown on the great sarcophagus fixed in the middle of the room ready for the final experiment, the great experiment consequent on the researches during a lifetime of these two traveled scholars. Again the startling lightness between Margaret and the mummy intensified by her own extraordinary pallor heightened the strangeness of it all. When all was finally fixed three-quarters of an hour had gone for we were deliberate in all our doings. Margaret beckoned me and I went out with her to bring in Silvio. He came to her purring. She took him up and handed him to me. And then did a thing which moved me strangely and brought home to me keenly the desperate nature of the enterprise on which we were embarked. One by one she blew out the candles carefully and placed them back in their usual places. When she had finished she said to me, They are done with now. Whatever comes, life or death, there will be no purpose in their using now. Then taking Silvio into her arms and pressing him close to her bosom where he purred loudly we went back to the room. I closed the door carefully behind me feeling as I did so a strange thrill as of finality. There was to be no going back now. Then we put on our respirators and took our places as had arranged. I was to stand by the taps of the electric lights beside the door ready to turn them off or on as Mr. Trollani should direct. Dr. Winchester was to stand behind the couch so that he should not be between the mummy and the sarcophagus. He was to watch carefully what should take place with regard to the queen. Margaret was to be beside him. She held Silvio ready to place him upon the couch or beside it when she might think right. Mr. Trollani and Mr. Korbeck were to attend to the lighting of the lamps. When the hands of the clock were close to the hour they stood ready with their lint stocks. The striking of the silver bell on the clock seemed to smite on her hearts like a knell of doom. 1 2 3 Before the third stroke the wicks of the lamps had caught and I had turned out the electric light. In the dimness of the struggling lamps and after the bright glow of the electric light the room and all within it took weird shapes and all seemed in an instant to change. We waited with our hearts beating. I know mine did and I fancied I could hear the pulsation of the others. The second seemed to pass with leaden wings. It were as though all the world were standing still. The figures of the others stood out dimly, Margaret's white dress alone showing clearly in the gloom. The thick respirators which we all wore added to the strange appearance. The light of the lamps showed Mr. Trelawney's square jaw and strong mouth and the brown shaven face of Mr. Korbeck. Their eyes seemed to glare in the light. Across the room Dr. Winchester's eyes twinkled like stars and Margaret's blazed like black suns. Silvio's eyes were like emeralds. Would the lamps never burn up? It was only a few seconds in all till they did blaze up. A slow, steady light growing more and more bright and changing in color from blue to crystal white. So they stayed for a couple of minutes without change in the coffer till at last there began to appear all over it a delicate glow. This grew and grew till it became like a blazing jewel and then like a living thing whose essence of life was light. We waited and waited, our hearts seeming to stand still. All at once there was a sound like a tiny muffled explosion and the cover lifted right up on a level plane a few inches. There was no mistaking anything now for the whole room was full of a blaze of light. Then the cover, staying fast at one side, rose slowly up on the other as though yielding to some pressure of balance. The coffer still continued to glow. From it began to steal a faint greenish smoke. I could not smell it fully on account of the respirator, but even through that I was conscious of a strange, pungent odor. Then this smoke began to grow thicker and to roll out in volumes of ever-increasing density till the whole room began to get obscure. I had a terrible desire to rush over to Margaret whom I saw through the smoke still standing erect behind the couch. Then as I looked I saw Dr. Winchester sink down. He was not unconscious, for he waved his hand back and forward as though to forbid anyone to come to him. At this time the figures of Mr. Trelawney and Mr. Korbeck were becoming indistinct in the smoke which rolled round them in thick billowy clouds. Finally I lost sight of them all together. The coffer still continued to glow but the lamps began to grow dim. At first I thought that their light was being overpowered by the thick black smoke, but presently I saw that they were one by one burning out. They must have burned quickly to produce such fierce and vivid flames. I waited and waited, expecting every instant to hear the command to turn up the light, but none came. I waited still and looked with harrowing intensity at the rolling billows of smoke still pouring out of the glowing casket whilst the lamps sank down and went out one by one. Finally there was but one lamp a light and that was dimly blue and flickering. The only effective light in the room was from the glowing casket. I kept my eyes fixed toward Margaret. It was for her now that all my anxiety was claimed. I could just see her white frock beyond the still white shrouded couch. Silvio was troubled. His piteous meowing was the only sound in the room. Deeper and denser grew the black mist and its pungency began to assail my nostrils as well as my eyes. Now the volume of smoke coming from the coffer seemed to lessen and the smoke itself to be less dense. Across the room I saw something white move where the couch was. There were several movements. I could just catch the quick glint of white through the dense smoke in the fading light. For now the glow of the coffer began quickly to subside. I could still hear Silvio but his meowing came from close under. A moment later I could feel him piteously crouching on my foot. Then the last spark of light disappeared and through the Egyptian darkness I could see the faint line of white around the window-blinds. I felt that the time had come to speak so I pulled off my respirator and called out, Shall I turn up the light? There was no answer so before the thick smoke choked me I called again but more loudly, Mr. Trelawney shall I turn up the light? He did not answer but from across the room I heard Margaret's voice sounding as sweet and clear as a bell. Yes, Malcolm! I turned the tap and the lamps flashed out. But they were only dim points of light in the midst of that murky ball of smoke. In that thick atmosphere there was little possibility of illumination. I ran across to Margaret, guided by her white dress, and caught hold of her and held her hand. She recognized my anxiety and said at once, I am all right? Thank God! I said. How are the others? Quick, let us open all the windows and get rid of this smoke. To my surprise she answered in a sleepy way, They will be all right. They won't get any harm. I did not stop to inquire how or on what ground she formed such an opinion, but threw up the lower sashes of all the windows and pulled down the upper. Then I threw open the door. A few seconds made a perceptible change as the thick black smoke began to roll out of the windows. Then the lights began to grow into strength and I could see the room. All the men were overcome. Beside the couch Dr. Winchester lay on his back as though he had sunk down and rolled over. And on the farther side of the sarcophagus, where they had stood, lay Mr. Trelawney and Mr. Korbeck. It was a relief to me to see that, though they were unconscious, all three were breathing heavily as though in a stupor. Margaret still stood behind the couch. She seemed at first to be in a partially dazed condition, but every instant appeared to get more command of herself. She stepped forward and helped me to raise her father and drag him close to the window. Together we placed the others similarly and she flew down to the dining-room and returned with a decanter of brandy. This we proceeded to administer to them all in turn. It was not many minutes after we had opened the windows when all three were struggling back to consciousness. During this time my entire thoughts and efforts had been concentrated on their restoration, but now that this strain was off I looked round the room to see what had been the effect of the experiment. The thick smoke had nearly cleared away, but the room was still misty and was full of a strange, pungent, acrid odor. The great sarcophagus was just as it had been. The coffer was open and in it, scattered through certain divisions or partitions wrought in its own substance, was a scattering of black ashes. Overall sarcophagus, coffer, and indeed all in the room, was a sort of black film of greasy soot. I went over to the couch. The white sheet still lay over part of it, but it had been thrown back, as might be when one is stepping out of bed. But there was no sign of Queen Tara. I took Margaret by the hand and led her over. She reluctantly left her father to whom she was administering, but she came docilely enough. I whispered to her, as I held her hand, What has become of the Queen? Tell me! You were close at hand and must have seen if anything happened. She answered me, very softly, There was nothing that I could see. Until the smoke grew too dense I kept my eyes on the couch, but there was no change. Then, when all grew so dark that I could not see, I thought I heard a movement close to me. It might have been Dr. Winchester who had sunk down, overcome, but I could not be sure. I thought that it might be the Queen waking, so I put down poor Silvio. I did not see what became of him, but I felt as if he had deserted me when I heard him meowing over by the door. I hope he is not offended with me. As if in answer Silvio came running into the room and reared himself against her dress, pulling it as though clamoring to be taken up. She stooped down and took him up and began to pet and comfort him. I went over and examined the couch and all around it most carefully. When Mr. Trelawney and Mr. Korbeck recovered sufficiently, which they did quickly, though Dr. Winchester took longer to come round, we went over it afresh. But all we could find was a sort of ridge of impalpable dust, which gave out a strange dead odor. On the couch lay the jewel of the disc and plumes which the Queen had worn in her hair, and the star jewel which had words to command the gods. Other than this we never got clue to what had happened. There was just one thing which confirmed our idea of the physical annihilation of the mummy. In the sarcophagus in the hall, where we had placed the mummy of the cat, was a small patch of similar dust. In the autumn Margaret and I were married. On the occasion she wore the mummy robe and zone and the jewel in which Queen Tara had worn in her hair. On her breast, set in a ring of gold made like a twisted lotus stock, she wore the strange jewel of seven stars which held words to command the god of all the worlds. At the marriage the sunlight streaming through the chancel windows fell on it, and it seemed to glow like a living thing. The graven words may have been of efficacy, for Margaret holds to them, and there is no other life in all the world so happy as my own. We often think of the great Queen, and we talk of her freely. Once when I said with a sigh that I was sorry she could not have waked into a new life in a new world, my wife, putting both her hands in mine, and looking into my eyes with that faraway, eloquent, dreamy look which sometimes comes into her own, said lovingly, not grieve for her. Who knows, but she may have found the joy she sought. Love and patience are all that make for happiness in this world, or in the world of the past, or of the future, of the living or the dead. She dreamed her dream, and that is all that any of us can ask. THE END CHAPTER XIX