From the war their sketchy talk returned again to Michael's experiences in the desert. He told them briefly about the saint, omitting the nature of his illness. He spoke so naturally and unguardedly about Millicent, and of his annoyance at her appearance and at her persistence in remaining, that if there had been any lingering doubt in Hadassah's mind upon the subject of his absolute loyalty to Margaret, it was completely dispersed.
When he was hurriedly telling them about the meeting of the saint and all about his knowledge of the hidden treasure, and how completely it tallied with the African's prophecies, he produced a tiny parcel from his pocket-book. He handed it to Margaret, who felt as if she had been listening to the last chapter of a long story from The Arabian Nights.
The little packet was made up of many folds of tissue-paper. With nervous fingers Margaret unwrapped it.
When the last piece was discarded and she saw that uncut jewel lying against the palm of her hand, she gave a cry of delight mixed with apprehension. Its beauty was unique, its colour as indescribable as the crimson of an afterglow in the Valley.
She looked almost pitifully at Michael. She wished that the world was a little less strange; some of the humdrum of her pantry-maid's existence would be almost welcome.
"The saint carried it in his ear," he said. "He took it from
Akhnaton's treasure."
"Have you had it with you at the Front all this time?" Hadassah said.
Margaret's emotion touched her.
"Yes. But now it is for you, Meg. I will have it made into anything you like, so that you can always wear it. It will be my wedding-present, a jewel of Akhnaton."
"No, no!" Margaret said quickly. "You must take it, it belongs to you.
You must always carry it about with you, Mike—it is your talisman."
She stopped, for Michael had closed her fingers over the stone.
"But I want you to have it," he said. "Let it be my wedding-gift—there is no time for the buying of presents."