he tomb where she had been
painting, she had felt a bit "nervy," as she had expressed her state of
being to Freddy. She had tried to read, but had failed. Her thoughts
had wandered; her memory had retained nothing of what she had read; at
the end of a paragraph she knew as little of what it had been about as
though she had never read it. Concentration was beyond her power.

"I'm only wasting time, Freddy," she said after a last desperate effort
to concentrate her thoughts on her book. "I'm going to bed. If I
talked, I'd probably grouse--that's how I feel."

"Right you are, old girl. I'll soon be off, too. How'd you like to go
to Luxor for a few days?"

"Oh, no, Freddy!" Meg's whole being rejected the idea.

"All right--only don't get the jumps."

"A good sleep will put me right," she bent her head as she passed her
brother and lightly kissed his glittering hair. He was busy with a
plan, of extraordinarily minute details. "You're such a dear, Freddy."

"Rot!"

"You are, a thumping old dear."

"Don't you worry, old girl. Mike's all right. Bad news travels on
bat's wings, so they say. You'd have heard long before this if
anything was wrong."

It was just like Freddy to understand. Meg felt cheered. She sat
herself down beside him, quite close to his elbow, and watched him for
some moments. They were perfectly silent. Freddy's practical,
healthy, buoyant personality soothed her. Her big love for him brought
a sudden lump to her throat. Happy tears dimmed her sight. Hungrily
she pressed his arm close to hers and rubbed her cheek against his
coat. The next moment she had left the room.

Freddy's eyes followed her. "Not the life for a girl, somehow," he
said, a line of worry puckering his forehead, and for a few moments his
thoughts deserted his work. It became faulty; he had to use his
india-rubber over and over again. It was Meg's vision of Akhnaton that
had intruded itself upon his work; he must drag his thoughts back again.

Meg had told him about her vision. Before the tomb had been opened,
Freddy would have completely pooh-poohed the whole thing. He gave no
real credence to it now; still, there was a subtle difference in his
attitude towards the whole subject of the supernatural. His mind did
not so completely reject it as he thought. The extraordinary exactness
of the seer's vision of the inside of the tomb had not been without its
effect. He also knew how constantly and ardentl