he world in the far-off days
when Ahkhenaten was king and the Tell el Amarna tablets were a-writing.

It had been a pleasant time, so pleasant, that as I handed in the books
for the last time, I sighed to think that it was over; that not only
was the task finished, but that the recovery of my fair patient's hand,
from which I had that morning removed the splint, had put an end to the
need of my help.

"What shall we do?" I asked, as we came out into the central hall; "it
is too early for tea. Shall we go and look at some of the galleries?"

"Why not?" she answered. "We might look over some of the things
connected with what we have been doing. For instance, there is a relief
of Ahkhenaten upstairs in the Third Egyptian Room; we might go and look
at that."

I fell in eagerly with the suggestion, placing myself under her
experienced guidance, and we started by way of the Roman Gallery, past
the long row of extremely commonplace and modern-looking Roman Emperors.

"I don't know," she said, pausing for a moment opposite a bust labelled
"Trajan" (but obviously a portrait of Phil May), "how I am ever even to
thank you for all that you have done? to say nothing of repayment."

"There is no need to do either," I replied. "I have enjoyed working with
you, so I have had my reward. But still," I added, "if you want to do me
a great kindness, you have it in your power."

"How?"

"In connection with my friend Doctor Thorndyke. I told you he was an
enthusiast. Now he is, for some reason, most keenly interested in
everything relating to your uncle, and I happen to know that, if any
legal proceedings should take place, he would very much like to keep a
friendly eye on the case."

"And what do you want me to do?"

"I want you, if an opportunity should occur for him to give your father
advice or help of any kind, to use your influence with your father in
favour of, rather than in opposition to, his accepting it--always
assuming that you have no real feeling against his doing so."

Miss Bellingham looked at me thoughtfully for a few moments, and then
laughed softly.

"So the great kindness that I am to do you is to let you do me a further
kindness through your friend!"

"No," I protested; "that is where you are quite mistaken. It isn't
benevolence on Doctor Thorndyke's part; it is professional enthusiasm."

She smiled sceptically.

"You don't believe in it," I said; "but consider other cases. Why does a
surgeon get out o