“Do you mean to tell me,
” I said earnestly “that what I saw just now was the mere thought of your brain conveyed to mine?”
“Precisely!” he responded—“I know what the ‘City Beautiful’ was like, and I was able to draw it for you on the canvas of my memory and present it as a complete picture to your inward sight. For you have an inward sight,—though like most people, you live unconscious of that neglected faculty.”
“But—who was She?” I repeated obstinately.
“‘She’ was, I presume, the King’s favourite. If she kept her face hidden from you as you complain, I am sorry!—but I assure you it was not my fault! Get to bed, Geoffrey,—you look dazed. You take visions badly,—yet they are better than realities, believe me!”
Somehow I could not answer him. I left him abruptly and went below to try and sleep, but my thoughts were all cruelly confused, and I began to be more than ever overwhelmed with a sense of deepening terror,—a feeling that I was being commanded, controlled and, as it were, driven along by a force that had in it something unearthly. It was a most distressing sensation,—it made me shrink at times, [p 450] from the look of Lucio’s eyes,—now and then indeed I almost cowered before him, so increasingly great was the indefinable dread I had of his presence. It was not so much the strange vision of the ‘City Beautiful’ that had inspired this in me,—for after all, that was only a trick of hypnotism, as he had said, and as I was content to argue it with myself,—but it was his whole manner that suddenly began to impress me as it had never impressed me before. If any change was slowly taking place in my sentiments towards him, so surely it seemed was he changing equally towards me. His imperious ways were more imperial,—his sarcasm more sarcastic,—his contempt for mankind more openly displayed and more frequently pronounced. Yet I admired him as much as ever,—I delighted in his conversation, whether it were witty, philosophical or cynical,—I could not imagine myself without his company. Nevertheless the gloom on my mind deepened,—our Nile trip became infinitely wearisome to me, so much so, that almost before we had got half-way on our journey up the river, I longed to turn back again and wished the voyage at an end. An incident that occurred at Luxor was more than sufficient to strengthen this desire. We had stayed there for several days exploring the district and visiting the ruins of Thebes and Karnac, where they were busy excavating tombs. One afternoon they brought to light a red granite sarcophagus intact,—in it was a richly painted coffin which was opened in our presence, and was found to contain the elaborately adorned mummy of a woman. Lucio proved himself an apt reader of hieroglyphs, and he translated in brief, and with glib accuracy the history of the corpse as it was pictured inside the sepulchral shell.
“A dancer at the court of Queen Amenartes;” he announced for the benefit of several interested spectators who with myself, stood round the sarcophagus—“Who because of her many sins, and secret guilt which made her life unbearable, and her days full of corruption, died of poison administered by her own hand, according to the King’s command, and in presence of the executioners of law. Such is the lady’s [p 451] story,—condensed;—there are a good many other details of course. She appears to have been only in her twentieth year. Well!” and he smiled as he looked round upon his little audience,—“We may congratulate ourselves on having progressed since the days of these over-strict ancient Egyptians! The sins of dancers are not, with us, taken au grand serieux! Shall we see what she is like?”
No objection was raised by the authorities concerned in the discoveries,—and I, who had never witnessed the unrolling of a mummy before, watched the process with great interest and curiosity. As one by one of the scented wrappings were removed, a long tress of nut-brown hair became visible,—then, those who were engaged in the task, used more extreme and delicate precaution, Lucio himself assisting them to uncover the face. As this was done, a kind of sick horror stole over me,—brown and stiff as parchment though the features were, their contour was recognisable,—and when the whole countenance was exposed to view I could almost have shrieked aloud the name of ‘Sibyl!’ For it was like her!—dreadfully like!—and as the faint, half-aromatic half-putrid odours of the unrolled cerements crept towards me on the air, I reeled back giddily and covered my eyes. Irresistibly I was reminded of the subtle French perfume exhaled from Sibyl’s garments when I found her dead,—that, and this sickly effluvia were similar! A man standing near me saw me swerve as though about to fall, and caught me on his arm.
“The sun is too strong for you I fear?” he said kindly—“This climate does not suit everybody.”
I forced a smile and murmured something about a passing touch of vertigo,—then, recovering myself I gazed fearfully at Lucio, who was studying the mummy attentively with a curious smile. Presently stooping over the coffin he took out of it a piece of finely wrought gold in the shape of a medallion.