s of years ago! Once,
thousands of years ago, a procession had wound up along the roadway
which was doubtless buried beneath the sand whereon he stood towards
the dark door of this sepulchre. He could see it as it passed in and
out between the rocks. The priests, shaven-headed and robed in leopards'
skins, or some of them in pure white, bearing the mystic symbols of
their office. The funeral sledge drawn by oxen, and on it the great
rectangular case that contained the outer and the inner coffins, and
within them the mummy of some departed Majesty; in the Egyptian formula,
"the hawk that had spread its wings and flown into the bosom of
Osiris," God of Death. Behind, the mourners, rending the air with their
lamentations. Then those who bore the funeral furniture and offerings.
Then the high officers of State and the first priests of Amen and of
the other gods. Then the sister queens, leading by the hand a wondering
child or two. Then the sons of Pharaoh, young men carrying the emblems
of their rank.

Lastly, walking alone, Pharaoh himself in his ceremonial robes, his
apron, his double crown of linen surmounted by the golden snake, his
inlaid bracelets and his heavy, tinkling earrings. Pharaoh, his head
bowed, his feet travelling wearily, and in his heart--what thoughts?
Sorrow, perhaps, for her who had departed. Yet he had other queens and
fair women without count. Doubtless she was sweet and beautiful, but
sweetness and beauty were not given to her alone. Moreover, was she not
wont to cross his will and to question his divinity? No, surely it
is not only of her that he thinks, her for whom he had prepared this
splendid tomb with all things needful to unite her with the gods. Surely
he thinks also of himself and that other tomb on the farther side of the
hill whereat the artists labour day by day--yes, and have laboured these
many years; that tomb to which before so very long he too must travel in
just this fashion, to seek his place beyond the doors of Death, who lays
his equal hand on king and queen and slave.

The vision passed. It was so real that Smith thought he must have been
dreaming. Well, he was awake now, and colder than ever. Moreover, the
jackals had multiplied. There were a whole pack of them, and not far
away. Look! One crossed in the ring of the lamplight, a slinking, yellow
beast that smelt the remains of dinner. Or perhaps it smelt himself.
Moreover, there were bad characters who haunted these mountains