sleep seemed very far from her--she might
dream of Millicent, and that would be worse than wakefulness and
remembrance. To trust herself to the lordship of dreams was to seek
refuge in the unknown, and that was dangerous. It was total
unconsciousness which she desired, the restful unconsciousness of a
blank mind. She remained perfectly still for a little time, asking for
rest, asking for the power not to think. She concentrated her thoughts
on this one desire; she opened her being for the reception of peace.

Suddenly the voice which heals spoke. It suggested a respite for her
troubles. "No mind can remain a blank," it said. "Try instead to
think of your vision, fill your whole being with its beauty, repeat to
yourself all that happened during that wonderful revelation."

Unconsciously and swiftly Meg's painful thoughts drifted away. The
picture of Millicent amusing and tempting her lover, which had danced
before her eyes, was no longer there--or, at all events, it was not
dominating her mind, and Freddy's words no longer rang in her ears.
Her misery, made by her own thoughts, left her, as a headache leaves a
sufferer when a sedative has been administered. The gentle voice, the
divine attendant, achieved its work. Meg had asked for rest and for
forgetfulness. Her prayer was being answered. It repeated to her the
tender words of Akhnaton; it told her in Michael's own dear way the
true explanation of her vision. With tightly-closed eyes and her head
bowed, she saw again the whole scene. It was unnaturally vivid--the
luminous figure, with the pitying, sorrowful eyes. As she gazed at it,
to her spirit came the same quiet comfort as had come to her on that
night when the vision had visited her. So clearly could she see the
rays of Aton behind the high crown of Upper and Lower Egypt, that she
lifted up her head. Perhaps He was there, in the sitting-room,
standing just in front of her? Had the luminous body penetrated the
darkness of her tightly-closed eyes?

Meg blinked her eyes to rid them of their confusion; her fingers had
been tightly pressed against them. She looked fixedly into the space
in front of her. Nothing was there; the room was just as it had been
when she closed her eyes. The disordered table, the cigarette-ash in
the two saucers, the crumbs from a Huntley and Palmer's cake on the
table-cloth--these homely things struck her as incongruous. She had
expected a vision of Akhnaton; she had