. Her over-self was an independent factor. Her
natural consciousness had certainly not appreciated the news. She had
never said the fact to herself, or derived any comfort from it, or
questioned it. She had been too overwhelmed by the practical evidence
that she was once more in touch with her vision to grasp the real purpose
of the message. Its value had been lost upon her, even though it had
told her that Michael was fighting, that he was in the war. But was he?
That was the question which her natural mind forced upon her. She must
take it on faith or reject the whole thing as a fabrication of her own
brain.

The writing had told her that the Light of Aton would guard him, that the
rays of Aton, which were God's symbol on earth, would encompass him and
confound his enemies. To the reasoning, practical Margaret it seemed
incredible nonsense, and yet Egypt had taught her that nothing is
incredible. She had thought of many solutions of the problem of
Michael's disappearance, many answers to her riddle of the sands, but she
had, to her conscious knowledge, never once imagined that he would be
taking part in this most horrible of all wars. Knowing his views upon
the subject of war, the possibility had never entered her mind that he
might have volunteered to fight in it. He had said over and over again
that Germany's desire for war was a myth, a mere mania which obsessed a
certain class of mind; that if such a thing happened it would be the
death-blow to the spread of Christianity, and rightly so, for a religion
which had done no more for the most scientifically-advanced race in the
world was not likely to be adopted by non-Christian races.

And yet the hand had written words which could have no other meaning.
She had no friends or relations at the Front. Her first cousins were all
too young, and their fathers too old, to fight. Freddy had represented
her personal and intimate interest in the army at the Front.

She read the words over and over again, until she knew them by heart,
until the strange handwriting which her own pencil had formed had become
familiar to her. She knew that she could never have written the words
except by some outside power. But what was that power? Had anyone else
ever experienced it? Was it known to Spiritualists?

As she asked herself the question, a picture formed itself in her mind of
Daniel interpreting "the writing on the wall" to the guests at the feast
of Belshazzar. S