“I am here, most royal one!” he announced.
Kāra sat up.
“And my grandmother?” he inquired.
“Here also, my prince. Ah, how natural is Hatatcha! You will be delighted. It is a skilful and almost perfect piece of work, even though I praise my own craft in saying so.”
With these words the dwarf led in the donkey. Upon its back was the form of a swaddled mummy, which was bound to a flat plank to hold it rigidly extended.
“I will show you the face,” continued Sebbet, in an eager tone, as he lifted the mummy and placed it upon the ground.
“Do not trouble yourself,” said Kāra. “I will look upon my grandmother at my leisure. The night is waning. Take your price and go your way.”
He handed the dwarf the emerald, holding the lamp, which he had relighted, while Sebbet examined the stone with great care.
“Yes; it is the great emerald with the cartouche of Ahtka-Rā,” said the embalmer, in a low, grave voice. “Osiris be praised that at last it is my own! Hatatcha was a wise woman, and she kept her word.”
Kāra extinguished the light, but the moon was shining and sent some of its rays through the arch to relieve the gloom.