tand," remarked Helwyse, aiming to lead the
conversation away from gloomy topics, "why the Doctor made so much of
Manetho." "That was only a part of the Egyptian mania that possessed
him, and began, you know, with his changing his name from Henry to
Hiero; and has gone on, until now, I suppose, he actually believes
himself to be some old inscription, containing precious secrets, not
to be found elsewhere. Before the adventure with the boy, I remember,
he had formed the idea of building a miniature Egypt in New Jersey;
and Manetho served well as the living human element in it. 'Though I
take him to America,' you know he said, 'he shall live in Egypt still.
He shall have a temple, and an altar, and Isis and Osiris, and papyri
and palm-trees and a crocodile; and when he dies I will embalm him
like a Pharaoh.' 'But suppose you die first?' said one of us. 'Then he
shall embalm me!' cried Hiero, and I will be the first American
mummy.'"

Mr. MacGentle seemed to find a dreamy enjoyment in working this vein
of reminiscence. He sat back in his low arm-chair, his unsubstantial
face turned meditatively towards the Magdalen, his hands brought
together to support his delicate chin. Helwyse, apprehending that the
vein might at last bring the dreamer down to the present day,
encouraged him to follow it.

"It must have been a disappointment to the Doctor that his protege
took up the Christian religion, instead of following the faith and
observances of his Egyptian ancestors, for the last five thousand
years!"

"Why, perhaps it was, Thor, perhaps it was," murmured Mr. MacGentle.
"But Manetho never entered the pulpit, you know; it would not have
been to his interest to do so; besides that, I believe he is really
devoted to Glyphic, believing that it was he who saved him from the
crocodile. People are all the time making such absurd mistakes.
Manetho is a man who would be unalterable either in gratitude or
enmity, although his external manner is so mild. And as to his taking
orders, why, as long as he wore an Egyptian robe, and said his prayers
in an Egyptian temple, it would be all the same to Glyphic what
religion the man professed!"

"Doctor Glyphic is still alive, then?"

The old man looked at the young one with an air half apprehensive,
half perplexed, as if scenting the far approach of some undefined
difficulty. He passed his white hand over his forehead. "Everything
seems out of joint-to-day, Helwyse. Nothing looks or seems