 CHAPTER XI. A Queen's Tomb. Mr. Trelawney's hope was at least as great as my own. He is not so volatile a man as I am, prone to ups and downs of hope and despair, but he has a fixed purpose which crystallizes hope into belief. At times I had feared that there might have been two such stones, or that the adventures of Van Hine were traveller's fictions, based on some ordinary acquisition of the Curio in Alexandria or Cairo or London or Amsterdam. But Mr. Trelawney never faltered in his belief. We had many things to distract our minds from belief or disbelief. This was soon after Arabipasha and Egypt was no safe place for travellers, especially if they were English. But Mr. Trelawney is a fearless man, and I almost come to think at times that I am not a coward myself. We got together a band of Arabs whom one or other of us had known in former trips to the desert, and whom we could trust, that is, we did not distrust them as much as others. We were numerous enough to protect ourselves from chance marauding bands, and we took with us large impedimenta. We had secured the consent and passive cooperation of the official still friendly to Britain, in the acquiring of which consent I need hardly say that Mr. Trelawney's riches were of chief importance. We found our way in Dahabias to Aswan, whence, having got some Arabs from the shake, and having given our usual Bakshish, we set out on our journey through the desert. Well, after much wandering and trying every winding in the interminable jumble of hills, we came at last at nightfall on just such a valley as Van Hine had described. A valley with high, steep cliffs, narrowing in the center, and widening out to the eastern and western ends. At daylight we were opposite the cliff and could easily note the opening high up in the rock, and the hieroglyphic figures which were evidently intended originally to conceal it. But the signs which had baffled Van Hine and those of his time, and later, were no secrets to us. The host of scholars who have given their brains and their lives to this work had rested open the mysterious prison-house of Egyptian language. On the hewn face of the rocky cliff we, who had learned the secrets, could read what the Theban priesthood had had there inscribed nearly fifty centuries before. For that the external inscription was the work of the priesthood, and a hostile priesthood at that, there could be no living doubt. The inscription on the rock, written in hieroglyphic, ran thus. Hither the gods come not at any summons. The nameless one has insulted them and is for ever alone. Go not nigh lest their vengeance wither you away. The warning must have been a terribly potent one at the time it was written, and for thousands of years afterwards, even when the language in which it was given had become a dead mystery to the people of the land. The tradition of such a terror lasts longer than its cause. Even in the symbols used there was an added significance of alliteration. Forever is given in the hieroglyphics as millions of years. This symbol was repeated nine times, in three groups of three, and after each group a symbol of the upper world, the underworld, and the sky, so that for this lonely one there could be, through the vengeance of all the gods, resurrection in neither the world of sunlight, in the world of the dead, or for the soul in the region of the gods. Neither Mr. Trelawney nor I dared to tell any of our people what the writing meant. For though they did not believe in the religion once the curse came, or in the gods whose vengeance was threatened, yet they were so superstitious that they would probably, had they known of it, have thrown up the whole task and run away. Their ignorance, however, and our discretion, preserved us. We made an encampment close at hand, but behind a jutting rock a little further along the valley, so that they might not have the inscription always before them. For even that traditional name of the place, the valley of the sorcerer, had a fear for them, and for us through them. With the timber which we had brought, we made a ladder up the face of the rock. We hung a pulley on a beam fixed to project from the top of the cliff. We found the great slab of rock which formed the door, placed clumsily in its place, and secured by a few stones. Its own weight kept it in safe position. In order to enter we had to push it in, and we passed over it. We found the great coil of chain which Van Hine had described fastened into the rock. There were, however, abundant evidences amid the wreckage of the great stone door, which had revolved on iron hinges at top and bottom, that ample provision had been originally made for closing and fastening it from within. Mr Trillani and I went alone into the tomb. We had brought plenty of lights with us, and we fixed them as we went along. We wished to get a complete survey at first, and then make examination of all in detail. As we went on we were filled with ever-increasing wonder and delight. The tomb was one of the most magnificent and beautiful which either of us had ever seen. From the elaborate nature of the sculpture and painting, and the perfection of the workmanship, it was evident that the tomb was prepared during the lifetime of her for whose resting-place it was intended. The drawing of the hieroglyphic pictures was fine, and the colouring superb, and in that high cavern, far away from even the damp of the Nile flood, all was as fresh as when the artist had laid down their pallets. There was one thing which we could not avoid seeing, that although the cutting on the outside rock was the work of the priesthood, the smoothing of the cliff-face was probably a part of the tomb-builder's original design. The symbolism of the painting and cutting within all gave the same idea. The outer cavern, partly natural and partly hewn, was regarded architecturally as only an anti-chamber. At the end of it, so that it would face the east, was a pillared portico, hewn out of the solid rock. The pillars were massive and were seven-sided, a thing which we had not come across in any other tomb. Sculptured on the architrave was the boat of the moon, containing hathor, cow-headed and bearing the disc in plumes, and the dog-headed hoppy, the god of the north. It was steered by Hippocrates towards the north, represented by the pole-star surrounded by Draco and Ursa Major. In the latter the stars that form what we call the plough were cut larger than any of the other stars, and were filled with gold so that in the light of torches they seemed to flame with a special significance. Passing within the portico we found two of the architectural features of a rock-tomb, the chamber or chapel, and the pit, all complete as Van Hine had noticed, though in his day the names given to these parts by the Egyptians of old were unknown. The steely, or record, which had its place low down on the western wall, was so remarkable that we examined it minutely, even before going on our way to find the mummy which was the object of our search. This steely was a great slab of lapis lazuli, cut all over with hieroglyphic figures of small size and of much beauty. The cutting was filled in with some cement of exceeding fineness and of the color of pure vermilion. The inscription began, Terra, Queen of the Egypts, Daughter of Anteph, Monarch of the North and the South, Daughter of the Sun, Queen of the Deodems. It then set out in full record the history of her life and reign. The signs of sovereignty were given with a truly feminine profusion of adornment. The united crowns of Upper and Lower Egypt were in a special cut with exquisite precision. It was new to us both to find the Hayet and the Desher, the White and the Red crowns of Upper and Lower Egypt, on the steely of a queen, for it was a rule, without exception in the records, that in ancient Egypt either crown was worn only by a king, though they are to be found on goddesses. Later on we found an explanation of which I shall say more presently. Such an inscription was in itself a matter so startling as to arrest attention from any one anywhere at any time, but you can have no conception of the effect which it had upon us. Though our eyes were not the first which had seen it, they were the first which could see it with understanding, since first the slab of rock was fixed in the cliff opening nearly five thousand years before. To us was given to read this message from the dead, this message of one who had warred against the gods of old and claimed to have controlled them at a time when the hierarchy professed to be the only means of exciting their fears or gaining their good will. The walls of the upper chamber of the pit and the sarcophagus chamber were profusely inscribed. All the inscriptions, except that on the steely, being colored with bluish green pigment. The effect when seen sideways as the eye caught the green facets was that of an old discolored Indian turquoise. We descended the pit by the aid of the tackle we had brought with us, Trelawney went first. It was a deep pit, more than seventy feet, but it had never been filled up. The passage at the bottom sloped up to the sarcophagus chamber and was longer than it's usually found. It had not been walled up. Within we found a great sarcophagus of yellow stone. But that I need not describe. You have seen it in Mr. Trelawney's chamber. The cover of it lay on the ground. It had not been cemented and was just as Van Hine had described it. Needless to say, we were excited as we looked within. There must, however, be one sense of disappointment. I could not help feeling how different must have been the sight which met the Dutch traveller's eyes when he looked within and found that white hand lying lifelike above the shrouding mummy-cloths. It is true that a part of the arm was there, white and ivory-like. But there was a thrill to us which came not to Van Hine. The end of the wrist was covered with dried blood. It was as though the body had bled after death. The jagged ends of the broken wrist were rough with the clotted blood. Through this the white bone sticking out looked like a matrix of opal. The blood had streamed down and stained the brown wrappings as with rust. Here, then, was full confirmation of the narrative. With such evidence of the narrator's truth before us, we could not doubt the other matters which he had told, such as the blood in the mummy-hand or marks of the seven fingers on the throat of the strangled shake. I shall not trouble you with details of all we saw or how we learned all we knew. Part of it was from knowledge common to scholars, part we read on the steely in the tomb and in the sculptures and hieroglyphic paintings on the walls. Queen Tara was of the eleventh, or Theban dynasty, of Egyptian kings which held sway between the twenty-ninth and twenty-fifth centuries before Christ. She succeeded as the only child of her father, Anteph. She must have been a girl of extraordinary character as well as ability, or she was but a young girl when her father died. Her youth and sex encouraged the ambitious priesthood which had then achieved immense power. By their wealth and numbers and learning they dominated all Egypt, more especially the upper portion. They were then secretly ready to make an effort for the achievement of their bold and long-considered design, instead of transferring the governing power from a kingship to a hierarchy. But King Anteph had suspected some such movement, and had taken the precaution of securing to his daughter the allegiance of the army. He had also had her taught a statecraft, and had even made her learned in the lore of the very priests themselves. He had used those of one cult against the other, each being hopeful of some present gain on its own part by the influence of the king, or of some ultimate gain from its own influence over his daughter. Thus the princess had been brought up amongst scribes, and was herself no mean artist. Many of these things were told on the walls in pictures or in hieroglyphic writing of great beauty, and we came to the conclusion that not a few of them had been done by the princess herself. It was not without cause that she was inscribed in the steely as Protector of the Arts. But the king had gone to further lengths, and had had his daughter taught magic by which he had power over sleep and will. This was real magic, black magic, not the magic of the temples, which, I may explain, was of the harmless or white order, and was intended to impress rather than to effect. She had been an apt pupil, and had gone further than her teachers. Her power and her resources had given her great opportunities of which she had availed herself to the full. She had won secrets from nature in strange ways, and had even gone to the length of going down into the tomb herself, having been swathed and coffened and left as dead for a whole month. The priests had tried to make out that the real Princess Tara had died in the experiment, and that another girl had been substituted, but she had conclusively proved their error. All this was told in pictures of great merit. It was probably in her time that the impulse was given in the restoring the artistic greatness of the Fourth Dynasty, which had found its perfection in the days of Khufu. In the chamber of the sarcophagus were pictures and writings to show that she had achieved victory over sleep. Indeed, there was everywhere a symbolism, wonderful even in a land and an age of symbolism. Prominence was given to the fact that she, though a queen, claimed all the privileges of kingship and masculinity. In one place she was pictured in man's dress, and wearing the white and red crowns. In the following picture she was in female dress, but still wearing the crowns of Upper and Lower Egypt, while the discarded male raiment lay at her feet. In every picture where hope or aim of resurrection was expressed there was the added symbol of the North, and in many places, always in representations of important events, past, present or future, was a grouping of the stars of the plow. She evidently regarded this constellation as in some way peculiarly associated with herself. Perhaps the most remarkable statement in the records, both on the steely and in the mural writings, was that Queen Tara had power to compel the gods. This, by the way, was not an isolated belief in Egyptian history, but was different in its cause. She had engraved on a ruby, carved like a scarab, and having seven stars of seven points, master words to compel all the gods, both of the Upper and the Underworld. In the statement it was plainly set forth that the hatred of the priests was, she knew, stored up for her, and that they would, after her death, try to suppress her name. This was a terrible revenge, I may tell you, in Egyptian mythology, for without a name no one can after death be introduced to the gods, or have prayers said for him. Therefore she had intended her resurrection to be after a long time, and in a more northern land, under the constellation whose seven stars had ruled her birth. To this end her hand was to be in the air, unwrapped, and in it the jewel of seven stars, so that wherever there was air she might move even as her car could move. This, after thinking it over, Mr. Trollani and I agreed, meant that her body could become astral at command, and so move, particle by particle, and become whole again, when and where required. Then there was a piece of writing in which allusion was made to a chest, or casket, in which were contained all the gods, and will, and sleep, the two latter being personified by symbols. The box was mentioned as with seven sides. It was not much of a surprise to us when, underneath the feet of the mummy, we found the seven-sided casket, which you have also seen in Mr. Trollani's room. On the underneath part of the wrapping, linen of the left foot was painted, in the same Vermilion color as that used in the steely, the hieroglyphic symbol for much water, and, underneath the right foot, the symbol of the earth. We made out the symbolism to be that her body, immortal and transferable at will, ruled both the land and the water, air and fire, the latter being exemplified by the light of the jewelstone, and further by the flint and iron which lay outside the mummy wrappings. As we lifted the casket from the sarcophagus, we noticed on its sides the strange protuberances which you have already seen, but we were unable at the time to account for them. There were a few amulets in the sarcophagus, but none of any special worth or significance. We took it that if there were such, they were within the wrappings, or, more probably, in the strange casket underneath the mummy's feet. This, however, we could not open. There were signs of there being a cover, certainly the upper portion and the lower were each in one piece. The fine line, a little away from the top, appeared to be where the cover was fixed, but it was made with such exquisite fineness and finish that the joining could hardly be seen. Certainly the top could not be moved. We took it that it was in some way fastened from within. I tell you all this in order that you may understand things with which you may be in contact later. You must suspend your judgment entirely. Such strange things have happened regarding this mummy and all around it that there is a necessity for a new belief somewhere. It is absolutely impossible to reconcile certain things which have happened with the ordinary currents of life or knowledge. We stayed around the valley of the sorcerer till we had copied roughly all the drawings and writings on the walls, ceilings, and floor. We took with us the steely of lapis lazuli whose graven record was colored with vermilion pigment. We took the sarcophagus and the mummy, the stone chest with the alabaster jars, the tables of bloodstone and alabaster and onyx and carnelian, and the ivory pillow whose arch rested on buckles, round each of which was twisted in Urias rod in gold. We took all the articles which lay in the chapel and the mummy-pit, the wooden boats with crews and the euchoptui figures, and their symbolic amulets. When coming away we took down the ladders and at a distance buried them in the sand under a cliff, which we noted so that if necessary we might find it again. Then with our heavy baggage we set out on our laborious journey back to the Nile. It was no easy task, I tell you, to bring the case with that great sarcophagus over the desert. We had a rough cart and sufficient men to draw it, but the progress seemed terribly slow, for we were anxious to get our treasures into a place of safety. The night was an anxious time with us, for we feared attack from some marauding band. But more still we feared some of those with us. They were, after all, but predatory, unscrupulous men, and we had with us a considerable bulk of precious things. They, or at least the dangerous ones amongst them, did not know why it was so precious. They took it for granted that it was material treasure of some kind that we carried. We had taken the mummy from the sarcophagus and packed it for safety of travel in a separate case. During the first night two attempts were made to steal things from the cart, and two men were found dead in the morning. On the second night there came on a violent storm one of those terrible samooms of the desert which make one feel his helplessness. We were overwhelmed with drifting sand. Some of our Bedouins had fled before the storm, hoping to find shelter. The rest of us, wrapped in our borneuse, endured with what patience we could. In the morning, when the storm had passed, we recovered from under the piles of sand what we could of our impedimenta. We found the case in which the mummy had been packed all broken, but the mummy itself could nowhere be found. We searched everywhere around, and dug up the sand which had piled around us, but in vain. We did not know what to do, for Trelani had his heart set on taking home that mummy. We waited a whole day in hopes that the Bedouins who had fled would return. We had a blind hope that they might have in some way removed the mummy from the cart and would restore it. That night, just before dawn, Mr. Trelani woke me up and whispered in my ear, We must go back to the tomb in the valley of the sorcerer. Show no hesitation in the morning when I give the orders. If you ask any questions as to where we are going it will create suspicion and will defeat our purpose. All right, I answered, but why shall we go there? His answer seemed to thrill through me as though it had struck some cord ready tuned within. We shall find the mummy there. I am sure of it. Then, anticipating doubt or argument, he added, Wait, and you shall see. And he sank back into his blanket again. The Arabs were surprised when we retraced our steps and some of them were not satisfied. There was a good deal of friction and there were several desertions, so that it was with a diminished following that we took our way eastward again. At first the shake did not manifest any curiosity as to our definite destination, but when it became apparent that we were again making for the valley of the sorcerer, he too showed concern. This grew as we drew near till finally at the entrance of the valley he halted and refused to go further. He said he would await our return if we chose to go on alone. That he would wait three days, but if by that time we had not returned he would leave. No offer of money would tempt him to depart from this resolution. The only concession he would make was that he would find the ladders and bring them near the cliff. This he did, and then with the rest of the troop he went back to wait at the entrance of the valley. Mr. Trelawney and I took ropes and torches and again ascended to the tomb. It was evident that someone had been there in our absence, for the stone slab which protected the entrance to the tomb was lying flat inside, and a rope was dangling from the cliff summit. Within there was another rope hanging into the shaft of the mummy-pit. We looked at each other, but neither said a word. We fixed our own rope and, as arranged, Trelawney descended first, I following at once. It was not till we stood together at the foot of the shaft that the thought flashed across me that we might be in some sort of a trap, that someone might descend the rope from the cliff and, by cutting the rope by which we had lowered ourselves into the pit, bury us there alive. The thought was horrifying, but it was too late to do anything. I remained silent. We both had torches so that there was ample light as we passed through the passage and entered the chamber where the sarcophagus had stood. The first thing noticeable was the emptiness of the place. Despite all its magnificent adornment the tomb was made a desolation by the absence of the great sarcophagus to hold which it was hewn in the rock, of the chest with the alabaster jars, of the tables which had held the implements and food for the use of the dead, and the euchaptu figures. It was made more infinitely desolate still by the shrouded figure of the mummy of Queen Terra which lay in the floor where the great sarcophagus had stood. Beside it lay in the strange contorted attitudes of violent death, three of the Arabs who had deserted from our party. Their faces were black and their hands and necks were smeared with blood which had burst from mouth and nose and eyes. On the throat of each were the marks, now blackening of a hand of seven fingers. Trelawney and I drew close and clutched each other in awe and fear as we looked. For most wonderful of all across the breast of the mummy Queen lay a hand of seven fingers. Ivory white, the wrist only showing a scar like a jagged red line from which seemed to depend, drops of blood. LIBERVOX RECORDING IS IN THE PUBLIC DOMAIN. RECORDING BY ROGER MALINE. THE JUUL OF SEVEN STARS BY BRAM STOKER. CHAPTER XII. THE MAGIC COFFER. When we recovered our amazement, which seemed to last unduly long, we did not lose any time carrying the mummy through the passage and hoisting it up the pit shaft. I went first to receive it at the top. As I looked down, I saw Mr. Trelawney lift the severed hand and put it in his breast, manifestly to save it from being injured or lost. We left the dead Arabs where they lay. With our ropes we lowered our precious burden to the ground and then took it to the entrance of the valley where our escort was to wait. To our astonishment we found them on the move. When we remonstrated with the shake, he answered that he had fulfilled his contract to the letter. He had waited the three days as arranged. I thought that he was lying to cover up his base intention of deserting us, and I found, when we compared notes, that Trelawney had the same suspicion. It was not till we arrived at Cairo that we found he was correct. It was the third of November, 1884, when we entered the mummy pit for the second time. We had reason to remember the date. We had lost three whole days of our reckoning, out of our lives, whilst we had stood wondering in that chamber of the dead. Was it strange, then, that we had a superstitious feeling with regard to the dead Queen Tara and all belonging to her? Is it any wonder that it rests with us now, with a bewildering sense of some power outside ourselves or our comprehension? Will it be any wonder if it go down to the grave with us at the appointed time, if, indeed, there be any graves for us who have robbed the dead? He was silent for quite a minute before he went on. We got to Cairo all right, and from there to Alexandria, where we were to take ship by the massagerie service to Marseille and go thence by express to London. But the best-laid schemes of Mison men and men gung off the glade. At Alexandria Trelawney found waiting a cable stating that Mrs. Trelawney had died in giving birth to a daughter. Her stricken husband hurried off at once by the Orient Express, and I had to bring the treasure alone to the desolate house. I got to London all safe. There seemed to be some special good fortune to our journey. When I got to this house the funeral had long been over. The child had been put out to nurse, and Mr. Trelawney had so far recovered from the shock of his loss that he had set himself to take up again the broken threads of his life and his work. That he had had a shock and a bad one was apparent. The sudden gray in his black hair was proof enough in itself, but in addition the strong cast of his features had become set and stern. Since he received that cable in the shipping office at Alexandria I have never seen a happy smile on his face. Work is the best thing in such a case, and to his work he devoted himself heart and soul. The strange tragedy of his loss and gain, for the child was born after the mother's death, took place during the time that we stood in that trance in the mummy-pit of Queen Tara. It seemed to have become in some way associated with his Egyptian studies, and more especially with the mysteries connected with the Queen. He told me very little about his daughter, but that two forces struggled in his mind regarding her was apparent. I could see that he loved, almost idolized her. Yet he could never forget that her birth had cost her mother's life. Also there was something whose existence seemed to ring his father's heart, though he would never tell me what it was. Again he once said in a moment of relaxation of his purpose of silence, she is unlike her mother, but in both feature and color she has a marvellous resemblance to the pictures of Queen Tara. He said that he had sent her away to people who could care for her as he could not, and that till she became a woman she should have all the simple pleasures that a young girl might have and that were best for her. I would often have talked with him about her, but he would never say much. Once he said to me, there are reasons why I should not speak more than is necessary. Someday you will know and understand. I respected his reticence, and beyond asking after her on my return after a journey I have never spoken of her again. I had never seen her till I did so in your presence. Well, when the treasures which we had, uh, taken from the tomb had been brought here, Mr. Trelawney arranged their disposition himself. The mummy, all except the severed hand, he placed in the great ironstone sarcophagus in the hall. This was wrought for the Theven High Priest, Ooni, and is, as you may have remarked, all inscribed with wonderful invocations to the old guy. The rest of the things from the tomb he disposed about his own room, as you have seen. Amongst them he placed, for special reasons of his own, the mummy hand. I think he regards this as the most sacred of his possessions, with perhaps one exception. That is the carven ruby which he calls the Jewel of Seven Stars, which he keeps in that great safe which is locked and guarded by various devices, as you know. I daresay you find this tedious, but I have had to explain it so that you should understand all up to the present. It was a long time after my journey with the mummy of Queen Terra when Mr. Trelawney reopened the subject with me. He had been several times to Egypt, and he had been to Egypt several times with me and sometimes alone, and I had been several trips on my own account or for him. But in all that time, nearly 16 years, he never mentioned the subject unless when some pressing occasion suggested, if it did not necessitate, a reference. One morning, early, he sent me to Egypt, where he had been to France. One morning, early, he sent for me in a hurry. I was then studying in the British Museum and had rooms in Hart Street. When I came, he was all on fire with excitement. I had not seen him in such a glow since before the news of his wife's death. He took me at once into his room. The window-blinds were down and the shutters closed. Not a ray of daylight came in. The ordinary lights in the room were not lit, but there were a lot of powerful electric lamps, fifty candle-power at least, arranged on one side of the room. The little blood-stone table in which the heptagonal coffer stands was drawn to the center of the room. The coffer looked exquisite in the glare of light which shown on it. It actually seemed to glow as if lit in some way from within. What do you think of it? he asked. It is like a jewel, I answered. You may well call it the Sorcerer's magic coffer, if it often looks like that. It almost seems to be alive. Do you know why it seems so? From the glare of the light, did I suppose? Light, of course, he answered, but it is rather the disposition of light. As he spoke he turned up the ordinary lights of the room and switched off the special ones. The effect on the stone box was surprising. In a second it lost all its glowing effect. It was still a very beautiful stone, as always, but it was stone and no more. Do you notice anything about the arrangement of the lamps? he asked. No. They were in the shape of the stars in the plow, as the stars are in the ruby. The statement came to me with a certain sense of conviction. I do not know why, except that there had been so many mysterious associations with the mummy and all belonging to it that any new one seemed enlightening. I listened as Trelani went on to explain. For sixteen years I have never ceased to think of that adventure, or to try to find a clue to the mysteries which came before us. But never until last night did I seem to find a solution. I think I must have dreamed of it, for I woke all on fire about it. I jumped out of bed with a determination of doing something, before I quite knew what it was that I wished to do. Then, all at once, the purpose was clear before me. There were illusions in the writing on the walls of the tomb to the seven stars of the great bear that go to make up the plow, and the north was again and again emphasized. The same symbols were repeated with regards to the magic box, as we called it. We had already noticed those peculiar translucent spaces in the stone of the box. You remember the hieroglyphic writing had told that the jewel came from the heart of an arrow-light, and that the coffer was cut from it also? It might be, I thought, that the light of the seven stars shining in the right direction might have some effect on the box or something within it. I raised the blind and looked out. The plow was high in the heavens, and both its stars and the pole-star were straight opposite the window. I pulled the table with the coffer out into the light and shifted it until the translucent patches were in the direction of the stars. Instantly the box began to glow as you saw it under the lamps, though but slightly. I waited and waited, but the sky clouded over and the light died away. So I got wires and lamps, you know how often I use them in experiments, and tried the effect of electric light. It took me some time to get the lamps properly placed so that they would correspond to the parts of the stone, but the moment I got them right the whole thing began to glow as you have seen it. I could get no further, however. There was evidently something wanting. All at once it came to me that if light could have some effect there should be in the tomb some means of producing light, for there could not be starlight in the mummy-pit in the cavern. Then the whole thing seemed to become clear. On the bloodstone table, which has a hollow carved in its top into which the bottom of the coffer fits, I laid the magic coffer, and I at once saw that the odd protuberances so carefully wrought in the substance of the stone corresponded in a way to the stars in the constellation. These then were to hold lights. Eureka! I cried. All we want now is the lamps. I tried placing the electric lights on or close to the protuberances. But the glow never came to the stone, so the conviction grew on me that there were special lamps made for the purpose. If we could find them a step on the road to solving the mystery should be gained. But what about the lamps? I asked. Where are they? When are we to discover them? How are we to know them if we do find them? What! He stopped me at once. One thing at a time, he said quietly. Your first question contains all the rest. Where are these lamps? I shall tell you. In the tomb. In the tomb, I repeated in surprise, why you and I searched the place ourselves from end to end, and there was not a sign of a lamp, not a sign of anything remaining when we came away the first time or on the second, except the bodies of the Arabs. Whilst I was speaking, he had uncoiled some large sheets of paper which he had brought in his hand from his own room. These he spread out on the great table, keeping their edges down with books and weights. I knew them at a glance. They were the careful copies which he had made of our first transcripts from the writing in the tomb. When he had all ready he turned to me and said slowly, Do you remember wondering when we examined the tomb at the lack of one thing which is usually found in such a tomb? Yes, there was no Sardab. The Sardab, I may perhaps explain, said Mr. Korbek to me, is a sort of niche built or hewn in the wall of a tomb. Those which have as yet been examined bear no inscriptions and contain only effigies of the dead for whom the tomb was made. Then he went on with his narrative. Trilani, when he saw that I had caught his meaning, went on speaking with something of his old enthusiasm. I have come to the conclusion that there must be a Sardab, a secret one. We were dull not to have thought of it before. We might have known that the maker of such a tomb, a woman who had shown in other ways such a sense of beauty and completeness and who had finished every detail with a feminine richness of elaboration, would not have neglected such an architectural feature. Even if it had not its own special significance in ritual, she would have had it as an adornment. Others had had it and she liked her own work to be complete. Depend upon it, there was, there is a Sardab, and that in it, when it is discovered, we shall find the lamps. Of course, had we known then what we know now, or at all events surmise, that there were lamps, we might have suspected some hidden spot, some cachet. I'm going to ask you to go to Egypt again, to seek the tomb, to find the Sardab, and to bring back the lamps. And if I find there is no Sardab, or if discovering it I find no lamps in it, what then? He smiled grimly with that Saturnine smile of his, so rarely seen for years past, as he spoke slowly. Then you will have to hustle till you find them. Good, I said. He pointed to one of the sheets. Here are the transcripts from the chapel at the south and the east. I have been looking over the writings again, and I find that in seven places round this corner are the symbols of the constellation which we call the Plough, which Queen Tara held to rule her birth and her destiny. I have examined them carefully, and I notice that they are all representations of the groupings of the stars, as the constellation appears in different parts of the heavens. They are all astronomically correct, and, as in the real sky, the pointers indicate the pole star, so these all point to one spot in the wall where usually the Sardab is to be found. Bravo! I shouted, for such a piece of reasoning demanded a pause. He seemed pleased as he went on. When you are in the tomb, examine this spot. There is probably some spring or mechanical contrivance for opening the receptacle. What it may be there is no use guessing. You will know what best to do when you are on the spot. I started the next week for Egypt and never rested till I stood again in the tomb. I had found some of our old following and was fairly well provided with help. The country was now in a condition very different to that in which it had been 16 years before. There was no need for troops or armed men. I climbed the rock face alone. There was no difficulty, for in that fine climate the woodwork of the ladder was still dependable. It was easy to see that in the years that it elapsed there had been other visitors to the tomb, and my heart sank within me when I thought that some of them might by chance have come across the secret place. It would be a bitter discovery, indeed, to find that they had forestalled me and that my journey had been in vain. The bitterness was realized when I lit my torches and passed between the seven-sided columns to the chapel of the tomb. There, in the very spot where I had expected to find it, was the opening of a sardab. And the sardab was empty. But the chapel was not empty, for the dried-up body of a man in Arab dress lay close under the opening, as though he had been stricken down. I examined all around the walls to see if Trelawney's surmise was correct, and I found that in all the positions of the stars as given the pointers of the plough indicated a spot to the left hand, or south side, of the opening of the sardab, where was a single star in gold. I pressed this, and it gave way. The stone which had marked the front of the sardab, and which lay back against the wall within, moved slightly. On further examining the other side of the opening, I found a similar spot, indicated by other representations of the constellation, but this was itself a figure of the seven stars, and each was wrought in burnished gold. I pressed each star in turn, but without result. Then it struck me that if the opening spring was on the left, this on the right might have been intended for the simultaneous pressure of all the stars by one hand of seven fingers. By using both my hands I managed to affect this. With a loud click a metal figure seemed to dart from close to the opening of the sardab. The stone slowly swung back to its place, and shut with a click. The glimpse which I had of the descending figure appalled me for the moment. It was like that grim guardian which, according to the Arabian historian Ibn Abn al-Hukm, the builder of the pyramids, King Sarid ibn Salhuk placed in the western pyramid to defend its treasure a marble figure upright, with lance in hand, with on its head a serpent wreathed. When any approached the serpent would bite him on one side, and twining about his throat and killing him would return again to his place. I knew well that such a figure was not wrought to pleasantry, and that to brave it was no child's play. The dead Arab at my feet was proof of what could be done. So I examined again along the wall, and found here and there chippings as if someone had been tapping with a heavy hammer. This then had been what happened. The grave robber, more expert at his work than we had been, and suspecting the presence of a hidden sardab, had made essay to find it. He had struck the spring by chance, had released the avenging treasurer as the Arabian writer designated him. The issue spoke for itself. I got a piece of wood, and standing at a safe distance, pressed with the end of it upon the star. Instantly the stone flew back. The hidden figure within darted forward and thrust out its lance. Then it rose up and disappeared. I thought I might now safely press on the seven stars, and did so. Again the stone rolled back, and the treasurer flashed by to his hidden layer. I repeated both experiments several times, with always the same result. I should have liked to examine the mechanism of that figure of such malignant mobility, but it was not possible without such tools as could not easily be had. It might be necessary to cut into a whole section of the rock. Someday I hope to go back, properly equipped, and attempt it. Perhaps you do not know that the entrance to a Sardab is almost always very narrow. Sometimes a hand can hardly be inserted. Two things I learned from this Sardab. The first was that the lamps, if lamps at all there had been, could not have been of large size. And secondly, that they would be in some way associated with Hathor, whose symbol, the hawk in a square with the right top corner forming a smaller square, was cut in relief on the wall within and colored the bright vermilion which we had found in the stele. Hathor is the goddess who in Egyptian mythology answers to Venus of the Greeks, in as far as she is the presiding deity of beauty and pleasure. In the Egyptian mythology, however, each god has many forms, and in some aspects Hathor has to do with the idea of resurrection. There are seven forms or variants of the goddess. Why should not these correspond in some way to the seven lamps? That there had been such lamps I was convinced. The first grave robber had met his death, the second had found the contents of the Sardab. The first attempt had been made years since the state of the body proved this. I had no clue to the second attempt. It might have been long ago, or it might have been recently. If, however, others had been to the tomb, it was probable that the lamps had been taken long ago. Well, all the more difficult would be my search, for undertaken it must be. That was nearly three years ago, and for all that time I have been like the man in the Arabian Nights seeking old lamps, not for new, but for cash. I dared not say what I was looking for, or attempt to give any description, for such would have defeated my purpose. But I had in my own mind at the start a vague idea of what I must find. In process of time this grew more and more clear, till at last I almost overshot my mark by searching for something which might have been wrong. The disappointments I suffered and the wild goose chases I made would fill a volume, but I persevered. At last, not two months ago, I was shown by an old dealer in Mosul one lamp such as I had looked for. I had been tracing it for nearly a year, always suffering disappointment, but always buoyed up to further endeavour by a growing hope that I was on the track. I do not know how I restrained myself when I realised that at last I was at least close to success. I was skilled, however, in the finesse of Eastern trade, and the Jew Arab Portugese trader met his match. I wanted to see all his stock before buying, and one by one he produced, amongst masses of rubbish, seven different lamps. Each of them had a distinguishing mark, and each and all was some form of the symbol of Hathor. I think I shook the imperturbability of my swarthy friend by the magnitude of my purchases. For in order to prevent him guessing what form of goods I sought, I nearly cleared out his shop. At the end he nearly wept, and said I had ruined him, for now he had nothing to sell. He would have torn his hair had he known what price I should ultimately have given for some of this stock, that perhaps he valued least. I parted with most of my merchandise at normal price as I hurried home. I did not dare to give it away, or even lose it, lest I should incur suspicion. My burden was far too precious to be risked by any foolishness now. I got on as fast as it is possible to travel in such countries, and arrived in London with only the lamps and certain portable curios and papyri which I had picked up on my travels. Now, Mr. Ross, you know all I know, and I leave it to your discretion how much, if any of it, you will tell Mr. Lani. As he finished, a clear young voice said behind us, What about Mr. Lani? She is here. We turned, startled, and looked at each other inquiringly. Mr. Lani stood in the doorway. We did not know how long she had been present or how much she had heard. End of Chapter 12, Recording by Roger Maline Chapter 13 of The Jewel of Seven Stars This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Roger Maline The Jewel of Seven Stars by Bram Stoker Chapter 13 Awaking from the Trance The first unexpected words may always startle a hearer, but when the shock is over, the listener's reason has asserted itself, and he can judge of the manner as well as of the matter of speech. Thus it was on this occasion. With intelligence now alert, I could not doubt of the simple sincerity of Margaret's next question. What have you two men been talking about all this time, Mr. Ross? I suppose Mr. Korbeck has been telling you all his adventures and finding the lamps. I hope you will tell me, too, someday, Mr. Korbeck. But that must not be till my poor father is better. He would like, I am sure, to tell me all about these things himself, or to be present when I heard them. She glanced sharply from one to the other. Oh, that was what you were saying as I came in. All right, I shall wait, but I hope it won't be long. The continuance of father's condition is, I feel, breaking me down. A little while ago I felt that my nerves were giving out, so I determined to go out for a walk in the park. I am sure it will do me good. I want you, if you will, Mr. Ross, to be with father whilst I am away. I shall feel secure then. I rose with alacrity, rejoicing that the poor girl was going out, even for half an hour. She was looking terribly worried and haggard, and the sight of her pale cheeks made my heart ache. I went to the sick room, and sat down in my usual place. Mrs. Grant was then on duty. We had not found it necessary to have more than one person in the room during the day. When I came in she took occasion to go about some household duty. The blinds were up, but the north aspect of the room softened the hot glare of the sunlight without. I sat for a long time thinking over all that Mr. Korbeck had told me, and weaving its wonders into the tissue of strange things which had come to pass since I had entered the house. At times I was inclined to doubt, to doubt everything and everyone, to doubt even the evidences of my own five senses. The warnings of the skill detective kept coming back to my mind. He had put down Mr. Korbeck as a clever liar and a confederate of Mr. Lani, of Margaret. That settled it. Face to face with such a proposition as that, doubt vanished. Each time when her image, her name, the nearest thought of her, came before my mind, each event stood out stark as a living fact. My life upon her faith. I was recalled from my reverie which was fast becoming a dream of love in a startling manner. A voice came from the bed, a deep, strong, masterful voice. The first note of it called up like a clarion, my eyes and my ears. The sick man was awake and speaking. Who are you? What are you doing here? What are you doing here? Whatever ideas any of us had ever formed of his waking, I am quite sure that none of us expected to see him start up all awake and full master of himself. I was so surprised that I answered almost mechanically. Ross is my name. I have been watching by you. He looked surprised for an instant, and then I could see that his habit of judging for himself came into play. Watching by me, how do you mean? Why watching by me? His eye had now lid on his heavily bandaged wrist. He went on in a different tone, less aggressive, more genial as of one accepting facts. Are you a doctor? I felt myself almost smiling as I answered. The relief from the long pressure of anxiety regarding his life was beginning to tell. No, sir. Then why are you here? If you are not a doctor, what are you? His tone was again more dictatorial. Thought is quick. The whole train of reasoning on which my answer must be based flooded through my brain before the words could leave my lips. Margaret! I must think of Margaret. This was her father who has yet knew nothing of me, even of my very existence. He would be naturally curious, if not anxious, to know why I, amongst men, had been chosen as his daughter's friend on the occasion of his illness. Fathers are naturally a little jealous in such matters as a daughter's choice, and in the undeclared state of my love for Margaret, I must do nothing which could ultimately embarrass her. I am a barrister. It is not, however, in that capacity I am here, but simply as a friend of your daughter. It was probably her knowledge of my being a lawyer which first determined her to ask me to come when she thought you had been murdered. Afterwards, she was good enough to consider me to be a friend, and to allow me to remain in accordance with your expressed wish that someone should remain to watch. Mr. Trelani was manifestly a man of quick thought and of few words. He gazed at me keenly, as I spoke, and his piercing eyes seemed to read my thought. To my relief he said no more on the subject just then, seeming to accept my words in simple faith. There was evidently in his own mind some cause for the acceptance deeper than my own knowledge. His eyes flashed, and there was an unconscious movement of the mouth, it could hardly be called a twitch, which be tokened satisfaction. He was following out some train of reasoning in his own mind. Suddenly he said, she thought I had been murdered? Was that last night? No, four days ago. He seemed surprised, whilst he had been speaking the first time he had sat up in bed. Now he made a movement as though he would jump out. With an effort, however, he restrained himself, leaning back in his pillows, he said quietly, Tell me all about it. All you know. Every detail. Omit nothing. But stay. First lock the door. I want to know, before I see anyone, exactly how things stand. Somehow his last words made my heart leap. Anyone. He evidently accepted me then as an exception. In my present state of feeling for his daughter this was a comforting thought. I felt exultant as I went over to the door and softly turned the key. When I came back I found him sitting up again. He said, Go on. Accordingly I told him every detail, even of the slightest which I could remember, of what had happened from the moment of my arrival at the house. Of course I said nothing of my feeling towards Margaret, and spoke only concerning those things already within his own knowledge. With regard to Korobak I simply said that he had brought back some lamps of which he had been in quest. Then I proceeded to tell him fully of their loss, and of their rediscovery in the house. He listened with a self-control which, under the circumstances, was to me little less than marvellous. It was impassiveness, for at times his eyes would flash or blaze, and the strong fingers of his uninjured hand would grip the sheet, pulling it into far extending wrinkles. This was most noticeable when I told him of the return of Korobak and the finding of the lamps in the Boudoir. At times he spoke, but only a few words, and as if unconsciously in emotional comment. The mysterious parts, those which had most puzzled us, seemed to have no special interest for him. He seemed to know them already. The utmost concern he showed was when I told him of Dawes' shooting. His muttered comment, stupid ass, together with a quick glance across the room at the injured cabinet, marked the measure of his disgust. As I told him of his daughter's harrowing anxiety for him, of her unending care and devotion, of the tender love which he had shown, he seemed much moved. There was a sort of veiled surprise in his unconscious whisper. Margaret! Margaret! When I had finished my narration, bringing matters up to the moment when Miss Trelawney had gone out for her walk, I thought of her as Miss Trelawney, not as Margaret now, in the presence of her father. He remained silent for quite a long time. It was probably two or three minutes, but it seemed interminable. All at once he turned and said to me briskly, Now tell me all about yourself! This was something of a flora. I felt myself grow red-hot. Mr. Trelawney's eyes were upon me. They were now calm and inquiring, but never seizing in their soul-searching scrutiny. There was just a suspicion of a smile in the mouth, which, though it added to my embarrassment, gave me a certain measure of relief. I was, however, face to face with difficulty, and the habit of my life stood me in good stead. I looked him straight in the eyes as I spoke. My name, as I told you, is Ross, Malcolm Ross. I am by profession a barrister. I was made a QC in the last year of the Queen's reign. I have been fairly successful in my work. To my relief, he said, Yes, I know. I have always heard well of you. Where and when did you meet Margaret? First at the Hayes in Belgrave Square, ten days ago, then at a picnic up the river with Lady Strathconnell. We went from Windsor to Cookham. Ms. Trelani was in my boat. I scull a little, and I had my own boat at Windsor. We had a good deal of conversation, naturally. Naturally! There was just a suspicion of something sardonic in the tone of acquiescence, but there was no other intimation of his feeling. I began to think that as I was in the presence of a strong man I should show something of my own strength. My friends and sometimes my opponents say that I am a strong man. In my present circumstances not to be absolutely truthful would be to be weak. So I stood up to the difficulty before me, always bearing in mind, however, that my words might affect Margaret's happiness through her love for her father. I went on. In conversation at a place and time and a midsurrounding so pleasing, and in a solitude inviting to confidence, I got a glimpse of her inner life. Such a glimpse as a man of my years and experience may get from a young girl. The father's face grew graver as I went on, but he said nothing. I was committed now to a definite line of speech, and went on with such mastery of my mind as I could exercise. The occasion might be fraught with serious consequences to me, too. I could not but see that there was over her spirit a sense of loneliness which was habitual to her. I thought I understood it. I am myself an only child. I ventured to encourage her to speak to me freely and was happy enough to succeed. A sort of confidence became established between us. There was something in the father's face which made me add hurriedly. Nothing was said by her, sir, as you can well imagine, which was not right and proper. She only told me in the impulsive way of one longing to give voice to thoughts long carefully concealed, of her yearning to be closer to the father whom she loved, more on rapport with him, more in his confidence, closer within the circle of his sympathies. Oh, believe me, sir, that it was all good. All that a father's heart could hope or wish for. It was all loyal. That she spoke it to me was perhaps because I was almost a stranger with whom there was no previous barrier to confidence. Here I paused. It was hard to go on, and I feared lest I might in my zeal do Margaret a disservice. The relief of the strain came from her father. And you? Sir, Miss Trelawney is very sweet and beautiful. She is young, and her mind is like crystal. Her sympathy is a joy. I am not an old man, and my affections were not engaged. They never had been till then. I hope I may say as much, even to a father. My eyes involuntarily dropped. When I raised them again, Mr. Trelawney was still gazing at me keenly. All the kindness of his nature seemed to read itself in a smile as he held out his hand and said, Malcolm Ross, I have always heard of you as a fearless and honourable gentleman. I am glad my girl has such a friend. Go on. My heart leaped. The first step to the winning of Margaret's father was gained. I daresay I was somewhat more effusive in my words and my manner as I went on. I certainly felt that way. One thing we gain as we grow older, to use our age judiciously. I have had much experience. I have fought for it and worked for it all my life, and I felt that I was justified in using it. I ventured to ask Miss Trelawney to count on me as a friend, to let me serve her should occasion arise. She promised me that she would. I had little idea that my chance of serving her should come so soon or in such a way, but that very night you were stricken down. In her desolation and anxiety she sent for me. I paused. He continued to look at me as I went on. When your letter of instructions was found, I offered my services. They were accepted, as you know. And these days how did they pass for you? The question startled me. There was in it something of Margaret's own voice and manner, something so greatly resembling her lighter moments that it brought out all the masculinity in me. I felt more sure of my ground now, as I said. These days, sir, despite all their harrowing anxiety, despite all the pain they held for the girl whom I grew to love more and more with each passing hour, have been the happiest of my life. He kept silence for a long time, so long that as I waited for him to speak, with my heart beating, I began to wonder if my frankness had been too effusive. At last he said, I suppose it is hard to say so much vicariously. Her poor mother should have heard you. It would have made her heart glad. Then a shadow swept across his face, and he went on more hurriedly. But are you quite sure of all this? I know my own heart, sir, or at least I think I do. No, no, he answered. I don't mean you. That is all right. But you spoke of my girl's affection for me, and yet she has been living here, in my house, a whole year. Still, she spoke to you of her loneliness, her desolation. I never—it grieves me to say it, but it is true. I never saw a sign of such affection towards myself in all the year. His voice trembled away into sad, reminiscent introspection. Then, sir, I said, I have been privileged to see more in a few days than you in her whole lifetime. My words seemed to call him up from himself, and I thought that it was with pleasure, as well as surprised, that he said, I had no idea of it. I thought that she was indifferent to me. That what seemed like the neglect of her youth was revenging itself on me, that she was cold of heart. It is a joy unspeakable to me that her mother's daughter loves me, too. Unconsciously he sank back upon his pillow, lost in memories of the past. How he must have loved her mother! It was the love of her mother's child, rather than the love of his own daughter that appealed to him. My heart went out to him in a great wave of sympathy and kindliness. I began to understand, to understand the passion of these two great, silent, reserved natures that successfully concealed the burning hunger for the other's love. It did not surprise me when presently he murmured to himself, Margaret, my child, tender and thoughtful and strong and true and brave, like her dear mother, like her dear mother. And then, to the very depths of my heart, I rejoiced that I had spoken so frankly. Presently, Mr. Trelawney said, Four days! The sixteenth! Then this is the twentieth of July? I nodded affirmation. He went on, So I have been lying in a trance for four days. It is not the first time. I was in a trance once under strange conditions for three days, and never even suspected it till I was told of the lapse of time. I shall tell you all about it some day, if you care to hear. That made me thrill with pleasure. That he, Margaret's father, would so take me into his confidence, made it possible. The business-like everyday alertness of his voice as he spoke next quite recalled me. I had better get up now. When Margaret comes in, tell her yourself that I am all right. It will avoid any shock. And will you tell Korbeck that I would like to see him as soon as I can? I want to see those lamps and hear all about them. His attitude toward me filled me with delight. There was a possible father-in-law aspect that would have raised me from a death bed. I was hurrying away to carry out his wishes, when, however, my hand was on the key of the door, his voice recalled me. Mr. Ross! I did not like to hear him say Mr. After he knew of my friendship with his daughter, he had called me Malcolm Ross. And this obvious return to formality not only pained, but filled me with apprehension. It must be something about Margaret. I thought of her as Margaret and not as Miss Trelawney, now that there was danger of losing her. I know now what I felt then that I was determined to fight for her rather than lose her. I came back unconsciously holding myself erect. Mr. Trelawney, the keen observer of men, seemed to read my thought. His face, which was set in a new anxiety, relaxed as he said, Sit down a minute. It is better that we speak now than later. We are both men and men of the world. All this about my daughter is very new to me, and very sudden, and I want to know exactly how and where I stand. Mind, I am making no objection, but as a father I have duties which are grave, and may prove to be painful. He seemed slightly at a loss how to begin, and this gave me hope. I suppose I am to take it from what you have said to me of your feelings towards my girl that it is in your mind to be a suitor for her hand later on? I answered at once, Absolutely firm and fixed. It was my intention the evening after I had been with her on the river to seek you, of course after a proper and respectful interval, and to ask you if I might approach her on the subject. Events forced me into closer relationship more quickly than I had to hope would be possible. But that first purpose has remained fresh in my heart and has grown in intensity, and multiplied itself with every hour which has passed since then. His face seemed to soften as he looked at me, the memory of his own youth was coming back to him instinctively. After a pause he said, I suppose I may take it too, Malcolm Ross, the return to the familiarity of address swept through me with a glorious thrill, that as yet you have not made any protestation to my daughter? Not in words, sir. The ariere panse of my phrase struck me, not by its own humor, but through the grave, kindly smile on the father's face. There was a pleasant sarcasm in his comment. Not in words! That is dangerous! She might have doubted words or even disbelieved them. I felt myself blushing to the roots of my hair as I went on The duty of delicacy in her defenseless position, my respect for her father, I did not know you then, sir, as yourself, but only as her father, restrained me. But even had not these barriers existed, I should not have dared in the presence of such grief and anxiety to have declared myself. Mr. Trelawney, I assure you, on my word of honour, that your daughter and I are as yet, on her part, but friends and nothing more. Once again he held out his hands and we clasped each other warmly. Then he said heartily, I am satisfied, Malcolm Ross. Of course I take it that until I have seen her and have given you permission you will not make any declaration to my daughter. In words, he added with an indulgent smile. But his face became stern again as he went on. Time presses and I have to think of some matter so urgent and so strange that I dare not lose an hour. Otherwise I should not have been prepared to enter, at so short a notice and to so new a friend, on the subject of my daughter's settlement in life and of her future happiness. There was a dignity and a certain proudness in his manner which impressed me much. I shall respect your wishes, sir, I said as I went back and opened the door. I heard him lock it behind me. When I told Mr. Corbeck that Mr. Trelawney had quite recovered, he began to dance about like a wild man. But he suddenly stopped and asked me to be careful not to draw any inferences at all events at first, when in the future speaking of the finding of the lamps or of the first visits to the tomb. This was in case Mr. Trelawney should speak to me in the subject. As of course he will, he added, with a side-long look at me which meant knowledge of the affairs of my heart. I agreed to this, feeling that it was quite right. I did not quite understand why, but I knew that Mr. Trelawney was a peculiar man. In no case could one make a mistake by being reticent. Reticence is a quality which a strong man always respects. The manner in which the others of the house took the news of the recovery varied much. Mrs. Grant wept with emotion. Then she hurried off to see if she could do anything personally and to set the house in order for Master, as she always called him. The nurses' face fell. She was deprived of an interesting case. But the disappointment was only momentary, and she rejoiced that the trouble was over. She was ready to come to the patient the moment she should be wanted, but in the meantime she occupied herself in packing her portmanteau. I took Sergeant Daw into the study so that we should be alone when I told him the news. It surprised even his iron self-control when I told him the method of the waking. I was myself surprised to see in turn by his first words. And how did he explain the first attack? He was unconscious when the second was made. Up to that moment the nature of the attack, which was the cause of my coming to the house, had never even crossed my mind, except when I had simply narrated the various occurrences in sequence to Mr. Trelawney. The detective did not seem to think much of my answer. Do you know it never occurred to me to ask him? The professional instinct was strong in the man and seemed to supersede everything else. That is why so few cases are ever followed out, he said, unless our people are in them. Your amateur detective near hunts down to the death. As for ordinary people, the moment things begin to mend and the strain of suspense is off them, they drop the matter in hand. It is like sea sickness, he added philosophically after a pause. The moment you touch the shore you never give it a thought, but run off to the buffet to feed. Well, Mr. Ross, I'm glad the case is over, for over it is, so far as I am concerned. I suppose that Mr. Trelawney knows his own business, and that now he is well again he will take it up himself. Perhaps, however, he will not do anything. As he seemed to expect something to happen, but did not ask for protection from the police in any way, I take it that he don't want them to interfere with an eye to punishment. We'll be told officially, I suppose, that it was an accident, or sleep-walking, or something of the kind, to satisfy the conscience of our record department, and that will be the end. As for me, I tell you frankly, sir, that it will be the saving of me. I verily believe I was beginning to get dotty over it all. There were too many mysteries that aren't in my line for me to be really satisfied as to either facts or the causes of them. Now I'll be able to wash my hands of it and get back to clean, wholesome, criminal work. Of course, sir, I'll be glad to know if you ever do light on a cause of any kind. And I'll be grateful if you can ever tell me how the man was dragged out of bed when the cat bit him, and who used the knife the second time. For Master Silvio could never have done it by himself. But there, I keep thinking of it still. I must look out and keep a check on myself, or I shall think of it when I have to keep my mind on other things. When Margaret returned from her walk I met her in the hall. She was still pale and sad. Somehow I had expected to see her radiant after her walk. The moment she saw me, her eyes brightened and she looked at me keenly. You have some good news for me? She said. Is Father better? He is. Why did you think so? I saw it in your face. I must go to him at once. She was hurrying away when I stopped her. He said he would send for you the moment he was dressed. He said he would send for me? She repeated in amazement. Then he is awake again and conscious? I had no idea he was so well as that. Oh, Malcolm! She sat down in the nearest chair and began to cry. I felt overcome myself. The sight of her joy and emotion, the mention of my own name in such a way and at such a time, the rush of glorious possibilities all coming together quite unmanned me. She saw my emotion and seemed to understand. She put out her hand. I held it hard and kissed it. Such moments as these, the opportunities of lovers, are gifts of the gods. Up to this instant, though I knew I loved her and though I believed she returned my affection, I had had only hope. Now, however, the self-surrender manifest in her willingness to let me squeeze her hand, the ardour of her pressure in return, and the glorious flush of love in her beautiful, deep, dark eyes as she lifted them to mine, were all the eloquences which the most impatient or exacting lover could expect or demand. No word was spoken, none was needed. Even had I not been pledged to verbal silence, words would have been poor and dull to express what we felt. Hand in hand, like two little children, we went up the staircase and waited on the landing till the summons from Mr. Trelawney should come. I whispered in her ear, it was nicer than speaking aloud and at a greater distance, how her father had awakened and what he had said, and all that had passed between us except when she herself had been the subject of conversation. Presently a bell rang from the room. Margaret slipped from me and looked back with warning finger on lip. She went over to her father's door and knocked softly. Come in, said the strong voice. It is I, Father. The voice was tremulous with love and hope. There was a quick step inside the room, the door was hardly thrown open, and in an instant Margaret, who had sprung forward, was clasped in her father's arms. There was little speech, only a few broken phrases. Father, dear, dear, Father! My child, Margaret, my dear, dear child! Oh, Father, Father, at last, at last! Here the father and daughter went into the room together and the door closed. End of chapter 13, recording by Roger Moline