apart from the sacred
eye of Ra?" Millicent said. "What a universal belief it seems to have
been! One meets with it all over the world."

"Wasn't there a book found in the ancient library of the temple of
Dendereh which told all about the turning away of the evil eye?" Mike
asked.

"I believe so," Freddy said. "But I've never seen it."

Millicent was still fingering her empty chain. "I feel lost without my
eye," she said to Mike, who had answered her persistent gaze. "You
bought it for me after that long, long day we spent together in the
desert behind Karnak. Do you remember that Coptic convent"--she made a
face of disgust--"and the amusement of the nuns at my blue eyes, and
all the dreadful dogs? You bought the eye from the old man who looked
as if he had lived inside a pyramid all his life." She turned to
Margaret. "It was a wonderful day, and we behaved like children in the
desert, didn't we, Mike?"

Meg managed to hide her annoyance, but something hurt inside
her--probably her bowels of wrath.

"It was a lovely day, I remember. The Coptic convent looked like a
collection of beehives huddled together in the desert. You wouldn't go
inside it because you were afraid of the fleas, and I wasn't allowed to
go in because I was a man."

"I'd had enough of Coptic churches. Have you ever been in the early
Christian churches in Cairo?" she asked Margaret.

"No, but I've heard about them."

"Well, I have, and all I can say is that if the early Christians in
Rome were as dirty as the survivors of the Church of St. Mark are in
Cairo, I don't wonder at the pagans. I wasn't going to risk the
monastery after the appalling filth of their churches, dirty pigs!"

At that precise moment Mohammed Ali brought in the coffee. It was
served in the native fashion, in small enamelled brass bowls, on a
brass tray. When he handed the tray to Mrs. Mervill he pointed to a
small object lying beside her cup.

"Lady, I find _antika_ all safe."

Millicent's heart beat more quickly; a little deeper rose warmed her
cheeks. She picked up the eye of blue faience from the brass tray with
well-assumed delight. Margaret's dark eyes were resting on her. She
felt them.

"Thank you," she said to Mohammed Ali. "I'm so glad." Her hand shook
a little as she lifted her cup. "Heaven's eye is not withdrawn," she
said gaily to Michael.

"Where did you find it, Mohammed?" Michael asked the question
innocently.

Mohammed Ali's