ng sound as of a great wind,
and once more I was back in Park Lane. Pharos was crouching in his
chair, moaning feebly, and evidently beside himself with terror.

"What more dost thou see?" he said at length, and his voice was growing
perceptibly weaker. "Tell me all."

There was another pause, and then Valerie spoke again.

"I see a rocky hillside and a newly-opened tomb. I see three white men
and five Arabs who surround it. They are lifting a mummy from the vault
below with cords."

On hearing this Pharos sprang to his feet with a loud cry, and for a
moment fought wildly with the air. Meanwhile the monkey clung
tenaciously to him, uttering strange cries, which grew feebler every
moment. Valerie, released from her trance, if by such a name I may
describe it, and unable to bear more, fled the room, while I stood
rooted to the spot, powerless to move hand or foot, watching Pharos with
fascinated eyes.

As if he were choking, he tore at his throat with his skeleton fingers
till the blood spurted out on either side. Little by little, however,
his struggles grew weaker, until they ceased altogether, and he fell
back into his chair, to all intents and purposes a dead man, with the
dying monkey still clinging to his coat.

After all I had lately gone through, the strain this terrible scene put
upon my mind was too great for me to bear, and I fell back against the
wall in a dead faint.

* * * * *

When I recovered from the attack of brain fever which followed the
ghastly event I have just described, I found myself lying in my bunk in
my old cabin on board the yacht. Valerie was sitting beside me holding
my hand in hers and gazing lovingly into my face. Surprised at finding
myself where I was, I endeavoured to obtain an explanation from her.

"Hush," she said, "you must not talk! Let it suffice that I have saved
you, and now we are away from England and at sea together. Pharos is
dead, and the past is only a bitter memory."

As she spoke, as if to bear out what she had said, a ray of sunshine
streamed in through the porthole and fell upon us both.

THE END.

GUY BOOTHBY'S NOVELS.

PHAROS, THE EGYPTIAN.

Mr. Boothby has proved himself a master of the art of story-telling from
the point of view of the reader who asks for a succession of stirring
events, a suspicion of mystery, and an interest not only maintained but
culminating. It would be unfair to explain the extraordin