my tomb. Not so. _I_
broke it, because, daring greatly, you had written thereon, 'Beloved,'
not 'of _Horus_ the God,' as you should have done, but 'of _Horu_ the
Man.' So when I came to be buried, Pharaoh, knowing all, took the image
from my wrappings and hurled it away. I remember, too, the casting of
that image, and how you threw a gold chain I had given you into the
crucible with the bronze, saying that gold alone was fit to fashion me.
And this signet that I bear--it was you who cut it. Take it, take it,
Horu, and in its place give me back that which is on your hand, the Bes
ring that I also wore. Take it and wear it ever till you die again, and
let it go to the grave with you as once it went to the grave with me.

"Now hearken. When Ra the great sun arises again and you awake you will
think that you have dreamed a dream. You will think that in this dream
you saw and spoke with a lady of Egypt who died more than three thousand
years ago, but whose beauty, carved in stone and bronze, has charmed
your heart to-day. So let it be, yet know, O man, who once was named
Horu, that such dreams are oft-times a shadow of the truth. Know that
this Glory which shines before you is mine indeed in the land that is
both far and near, the land wherein I dwell eternally, and that what is
mine has been, is, and shall be yours for ever. Gods may change their
kingdoms and their names; men may live and die, and live again once more
to die; empires may fall and those who ruled them be turned to forgotten
dust. Yet true love endures immortal as the souls in which it was
conceived, and from it for you and me, the night of woe and separation
done, at the daybreak which draws on, there shall be born the splendour
and the peace of union. Till that hour foredoomed seek me no more,
though I be ever near you, as I have ever been. Till that most blessed
hour, Horu, farewell."

She bent towards him; her sweet lips touched his brow; the perfume
from her breath and hair beat upon him; the light of her wondrous eyes
searched out his very soul, reading the answer that was written there.

He stretched out his arms to clasp her, and lo! she was gone.

It was a very cold and a very stiff Smith who awoke on the following
morning, to find himself exactly where he had lain down--namely, on a
cement floor beneath the keel of a funeral boat in the central hall of
the Cairo Museum. He crept from his shelter shivering, and looked at
this hall, to find it