orners took such
excellent curves that they pleased the eye. "Truly," I said, "this
must have been made for a giant!"

"Or for a giantess!" said Margaret.

This sarcophagus stood near to one of the windows. It was in one
respect different from all the other sarcophagi in the place. All the
others in the house, of whatever material--granite, porphyry,
ironstone, basalt, slate, or wood--were quite simple in form within.
Some of them were plain of interior surface; others were engraved, in
whole or part, with hieroglyphics. But each and all of them had no
protuberances or uneven surface anywhere. They might have been used
for baths; indeed, they resembled in many ways Roman baths of stone or
marble which I had seen. Inside this, however, was a raised space,
outlined like a human figure. I asked Margaret if she could explain it
in any way. For answer she said:

"Father never wished to speak about this. It attracted my attention
from the first; but when I asked him about it he said: 'I shall tell
you all about it some day, little girl--if I live! But not yet! The
story is not yet told, as I hope to tell it to you! Some day, perhaps
soon, I shall know all; and then we shall go over it together. And a
mighty interesting story you will find it--from first to last!' Once
afterward I said, rather lightly I am afraid: 'Is that story of the
sarcophagus told yet, Father?' He shook his head, and looked at me
gravely as he said: 'Not yet, little girl; but it will be--if I
live--if I live!' His repeating that phrase about his living rather
frightened me; I never ventured to ask him again."

Somehow this thrilled me. I could not exactly say how or why; but it
seemed like a gleam of light at last. There are, I think, moments when
the mind accepts something as true; though it can account for neither
the course of the thought, nor, if there be more than one thought, the
connection between them. Hitherto we had been in such outer darkness
regarding Mr. Trelawny, and the strange visitation which had fallen on
him, that anything which afforded a clue, even of the faintest and most
shadowy kind, had at the outset the enlightening satisfaction of a
certainty. Here were two lights of our puzzle. The first that Mr.
Trelawny associated with this particular curio a doubt of his own
living. The second that he had some purpose or expectation with regard
to it, which he would not disclose, even to his daughter, till
compl