“What disturbs you?  What are you staring at the book for?  I thought for an instant that you must have been overcome again!” I jumped up.

“I was reading,” I said, “an old book from the library.”  As I spoke I closed it and put it under my arm.  “I shall now put it back, as I understand that your Father wishes all things, especially books, kept in their proper places.”  My words were intentionally misleading; for I did not wish her to know what I was reading, and thought it best not to wake her curiosity by leaving the book about.  I went away, but not to the library; I left the book in my room where I could get it when I had had my sleep in the day.  When I returned Nurse Kennedy was ready to go to bed; so Miss Trelawny watched with me in the room.  I did not want any book whilst she was present.  We sat close together and talked in a whisper whilst the moments flew by.  It was with surprise that I noted the edge of the curtains changing from grey to yellow light.  What we talked of had nothing to do with the sick man, except in so far that all which concerned his daughter must ultimately concern him.  But it had nothing to say to Egypt, or mummies, or the dead, or caves, or Bedouin chiefs.  I could well take note in the growing light that Margaret’s hand had not seven fingers, but five; for it lay in mine.

When Doctor Winchester arrived in the morning and had made his visit to his patient, he came to see me as I sat in the dining-room having a little meal—­breakfast or supper, I hardly knew which it was—­before I went to lie down.  Mr. Corbeck came in at the same time; and we resumed out conversation where we had left it the night before.  I told Mr. Corbeck that I had read the chapter about the finding of the tomb, and that I thought Doctor Winchester should read it, too.  The latter said that, if he might, he would take it with him; he had that morning to make a railway journey to Ipswich, and would read it on the train.  He said he would bring it back with him when he came again in the evening.  I went up to my room to bring it down; but I could not find it anywhere.  I had a distinct recollection of having left it on the little table beside my bed, when I had come up after Miss Trelawny’s going on duty into the sick-room.  It was very strange; for the book was not of a kind that any of the servants would be likely to take.  I had to come back and explain to the others that I could not find it.

When Doctor Winchester had gone, Mr. Corbeck, who seemed to know the Dutchman’s work by heart, talked the whole matter over with me.  I told him that I was interrupted by a change of nurses, just as I had come to the description of the ring.  He smiled as he said: 

“So far as that is concerned, you need not be disappointed.  Not in Van Huyn’s time, nor for nearly two centuries later, could the meaning of that engraving have been understood.  It was only when the work was taken up and followed by Young and Champollion, by Birch and Lepsius and Rosellini and Salvolini, by Mariette Bey and by Wallis Budge and Flinders Petrie and the other scholars of their times that great results ensued, and that the true meaning of hieroglyphic was known.