It was the dawn of the morning on which the tomb was to be opened. Meg could not sleep; the overseer's shrill whistle for the roll-call of the workmen had banished her last hopes that a little sleep would come to her before the exciting day began.

The clear whistle called the straggling figures together. They were still indefinite objects, moving white columns in the darkness which heralds the dawn. They were to begin work earlier than usual; Meg could see no signs of the coming day in the sky.

She sprang out of bed, glad to begin some practical work to banish the confusion of thoughts which had made her brain too active for sleep. Before she had her bath or dressed, she felt that she must breathe the cool, pure air outside the hut for a moment or two.

During the night her thoughts had been mastered by a consciousness of the fact that after the great day, after the tomb was satisfactorily opened and Michael had accomplished the necessary work in connection with it which Freddy might demand of him, he would start out on his desert journey. She could not and would not hold him back. Things too delicate and indefinite to be described had gathered and accumulated, strengthening his determination to leave the valley and start out on his apparently objectless journey. As the accumulation of atoms has formed continents, so the accumulation of thoughts becomes a thing which controls our destinies.

The treasure-trove of gold which had been hidden by Akhnaton the Dreamer was now as real to Michael as the gold-mines in California were real to the miners of the '49 rush. He had visualized it over and over again. He was undaunted by the fact that many visionaries had seen their King Solomon's mines equally clearly; but how many have reached them? He was satisfied that, though his journey might prove a complete failure from Freddy's point of view, until he made it any work he tried to do would be a more complete one. There are treasures laid up in heaven far beyond the value of rubies and precious jewels, and the Kingdom of Heaven which is within us Mike was determined to find.

Meg had given her abundant sympathy, but advice she had none to offer. The thing was beyond her, taken out of her hands; it belonged to the part of Michael which she loved and admired but did not fully comprehend—the superman. Her practical common sense was her stumbling-block; it held her with the chains of caution and the doubts of a scientific trend of mind, which demands practical proofs before it accepts any theory or idea. Although she was influenced more deeply by Egypt than she had ever imagined it possible to be influenced by the unseen, or by atmosphere and surroundings, she still walked firmly on her two feet. Her momentary standings on her head were passing and spasmodic. She neither felt convinced nor unconvinced upon the subject of Akhnaton's vision or upon the truth and reliability of the old man's words at el-Azhar. Suggestion is so often at the root of what appears to be the supernatural. Michael might have talked to the old man, as he had often talked to herself, about the possibility of such a treasure having been hidden by the King when he, Akhnaton, knew that he was dying and when he realized that his new capital of Tel-el-Amarna would not long survive his decease, that the priests of the old religion would do all in their power to obliterate his memory and teachings. She knew that Michael was not the only person who held this view. He was not the originator of the theory.

Meg had never had anything to do with people who believed in visions and the power of seeing into the future. The occult had had no fascination for her. Until she arrived in the valley all such things had come under the heading of charlatanism. Her thoughts were different now. She had learned more; she had discovered that her powers of vision might be limited to the very fine mental qualities of which her family were so proud; she had found out that the sharpest brains for practical purposes may be extremely blunt for higher ones. Freddy and she could play with figures; problems which could be worked out by practical methods were to them difficulties to be mastered by hard work, and hard work was pleasure to the Lamptons; it was their form of enjoyment. They were not imaginative; they were combative; they enjoyed a fight which usurped their mental energies.

In Egypt Meg had been given new eyes, new understanding. There were finer things than mathematical problems, things of the super-intellect, infinitely more delicate and wonderful, to which neither she nor Freddy held the key. She felt like a child. She was a child again, an inquisitive child, crying out for answers which would satisfy her awakening intelligence. Her fine college education had been confined to the insides of books. She knew nothing whatever of the finer truths which were every day being thrust upon her senses. It was just as if Freddy and she were watching a play from a great distance without opera-glasses, while Michael had very powerful ones. He could see things beyond their horizon; he was in touch with people who inhabited a world to which they could not travel.

Too often Michael's thoughts were divided from hers by continents of space. She was often alone. She longed passionately to say to him that she really believed in all that he believed in. Her beautiful honesty did not permit it. Her limitations tormented her. It was like having a cork leg in a race. If she could only get rid of her Lampton, materialistic, common-sense nature, she would be more able to advise and counsel her lover. Poor Meg! Thoughts like these had fought for coherence all night.

She little knew that her nature was the perfect adjustment which Michael's needed. He came to her, not only as a lover, but as a tired traveller in search of rest. Her reasoning mind and cautious nature gave him balance. When he had been standing on his head for too many hours together, Meg put him on his feet again.

This morning Meg needed putting on her own feet. She was hopelessly tormented with questions which she could not answer. One minute Michael's whole scheme ought to be discouraged; his belief in the occult was a thing to be suppressed; it was dangerous and unhealthy. The next, she found herself with energies vitalized and glowing over the certainty that there must be truth in the idea, that there must be some meaning in the repeated messages conveyed either by dreams or by whatsoever one chose to call them. Thoughts certainly had been conveyed to him.

Then the glowing vision of Michael actually discovering the lost treasure of Akhnaton would vanish and she would see him, just as clearly, alone and ill in the desert, in lack of funds and abandoned by his men. She knew his casual methods of making practical arrangements and his total disregard for his personal health and safety.

She was watching the coming dawn while her thoughts were creating misfortunes and calling up unhappy visions of Michael alone in the desert. The old man at el-Azhar had spoken of temptations and sickness. If the treasure was a fact, then the sickness and temptation were facts also. But what were the temptations? Did he allude to the spiritual or the material man?

Suddenly her thoughts were obliterated, her self-inflicted suffering wiped out. She had no thoughts, no consciousness; for her nothing existed but the luminous and wonderful figure of Akhnaton which had formed itself in front of her. At first her astonished eyes had seen it dimly, then clearly and still more clearly.

Meg remained perfectly still. She was too awestruck, too amazed, to move or speak. The vision became surrounded by light, by the rays of Aton. It was months since she had first seen it; now in the dawn, it seemed as if it had only been the night before. A sense of rest came to her as she gazed at it.

"Thy dawning is beautiful in the horizon of heaven,
O living Aton, Beginning of Life!
When thou risest in the eastern horizon of heaven,
Thou fillest every land with thy beauty;
For thou art beautiful, great, glittering, high over the earth,
Thy rays, they encompass the land, even all thou hast made."

Meg listened intently to the words. They were part of Akhnaton's Hymn to the Rising Sun, the hymn which Mike had repeated to her.

She waited until the words were lost in the silent hour. Every thought of hers was known to the sad eyes, every longing in her heart to be given power to speak was understood. It seemed to come naturally to her, the understanding of the needlessness for her to do aught but listen. The vision was her over-soul, her higher self, which understood.

"You have delivered my message. I have seen, I have approved. The Lord of Peace, the Living Aton, besides whom there is none other, has brought Life to his heart. The beauty of Aton is there."

It was of Michael the vision spoke. Meg never doubted. "His pleasure is to do thy bidding," she said. The words were the unstudied, simple truth.

"I have seen, always I have guided, always I have prayed. I have revealed to him the Light which is Truth. His work, which is the Love of Aton, is in his heart. The Lord of Fate has perfected it."

"I would have him go, and yet, because I am not fully in the Light, I would have him stay. All that is in my heart is plain to you—my fears, my joys, my imperfect faith. I ask for help; I am troubled."

"There is no poverty, no fear, for those who have set Aton in their hearts; for my servant there is no danger. Hearts have health where Aton shines."

"But for me—how can I help him?"

"By the perfection of Love."

"But my love is imperfect. It is not divine. I fear for his bodily welfare. I cannot willingly offer him to the Aton of whom you speak. I can only understand my own selfish love . . . it is human."

"You are the mistress of his happiness. In my Kingdom, while it was on earth, my heart was happy in my Queen and in my children. The great Lord and Giver of Light is none other than the Loving Father, the tender husband, the devoted son. There is none other than the living Aton, whose kingdom is within us. We are Love, we are Aton."

"Then my love is no hindrance?"

"God is Love, God is Happiness, God is Beauty."

There was infinite understanding and tenderness in the words, but Meg's honesty was persistent.

"My love is not that sort of love, but it is very dear to me. It is selfish and human. It is wrapped round with natural desires, my own personal wants."

"Is there any love which is not of Aton? Does He expect things other than He has made?"

"I am in darkness; I have so many fears."

"Your soul is not shut off from that which it desires. Your fears can be turned to understanding; no forces of darkness can hold against the powers of Light. If you open your heart to the Living Truth, the powers of darkness are disarmed, Aton is enthroned. He is the sole creator of all things created."

The sky was changing from a cold grey to the opalescence of dawn. A line of light was slowly appearing and widening on the horizon. As it spread and grew more distinct, the luminous figure became less clear; the rays of Aton shone less vividly. Akhnaton's spirit had come forth from the Underworld to see the sun rise on the world he so passionately loved. This had been one of his most insistent and ardent prayers while he reigned on earth, that after death his "two eyes might be opened to see the sun," that "the vision of the sun's fair face might never be lost to him," that he might "obtain a sight of the beauty of each recurring sunrise."

Meg stood in an awed silence, her subliminal self alone conscious of the grave, sad eyes, which were watching the splendour of the sun as it came over the edge of the desert. The rapidity of its uprising was amazing. It had burst the bonds of darkness with a strength and force which resembled the triumph of a victorious army. At its coming the darkness was scattered. Its quickly-spreading rays were driving back the forces of the enemy. With fine generalship it was following up the victory with renewed attacks.

The form of the Pharaoh was only dimly visible. Its luminousness had disappeared. It was a shadow in the light. The prayer of all Egyptians from time immemorial had been that they might each day "leave the dim Underworld in order to see the light of the sun upon earth." Akhnaton had prayed this prayer, which was ancient before his day.

Meg knew that his prayer had been answered. Akhnaton, the King, the passionate heretic, the visionary and the prophet, was seeing his adored Sun rising over his kingdom. His persistent prayers had been granted, his desire realized. His spirit had come forth to see the sun's rays. As he gazed at the sun, the years had rolled back. Three thousand years are but a span in the march of eternity. He was alone with his God, as alone as the Moslem figures who were prostrating themselves to the ground. He was enjoying the beauty of Aton in the silent valley, which his footsteps had so often trod, the valley overlooking the city which to him, in his manhood, became the city of abomination and desolation, the city of false gods.

As the light of day flooded the desert, the figure became invisible to Meg. It seemed to melt into the golden air. She felt that it might still be standing there, quite close to her, only she could not see it. Her powers were limited; the light concealed the figure. Being luminous, she had been able to see it clearly in the darkness, just as she was able to see the luminous match-box which she always kept on a table by her bedside. She knew it was there, always shining, only her eyes were unable to see its brightness in the daylight. The figure of Akhnaton might be near her still. How clearly it had stood out in the darkness, how brightly the rays of the sun had declared the symbol of Aton!

Had it all been an optical delusion, born of her nervous condition? Or was it a dream? Was she still in bed sleeping? How could she prove to herself that she was awake, that she had come out to see the dawn, that she was standing in front of her hut and not asleep in bed? In her dreams, she had often dreamed that she was dreaming; she had often told herself that her dreams were all dreams; she had often done things in her dreams to prove to herself that they were not dreams. If she stooped to pick up some sand to prove that her feet were pressing the desert, might not that, too, be a part of her dream? What on earth was there to prove the real from the unreal?

Now that she knew about Akhnaton and his beautiful religion, which is the religion of all reasoning mortals to-day, and had read something of his life and mission, was it not quite probable that she was creating all that she had seen, that she was deceiving herself? It was still possible that she was dreaming.

With nerves unstrung and a beating heart, she saw Michael appear. He was in his early-morning top-coat. He, too, had been greeting the sun. He had made a hasty sketch of the first colours in the sky.

"Mike," Meg cried, in a tone of relief and anxiety. "Mike, I want you, do come here!"

The next moment Mike's arms were round her; her head was on his shoulder.

"What is the matter, dearest?"

"The vision, Mike! I have seen it again—it has been even more wonderful. Oh, Mike!" A stifled sob came from Margaret's full heart; the tension of her nerves was relaxed by the comfort of human arms, of human magnetism.

"And you were afraid, dearest?" He held her closer; his strength nerved her. Oh, welcome humanity!

"Afraid? No—oh, no, it wasn't fear."

"What then, dear one?"

"I can't explain it. If only you had been with me!" She clung to him.

"I should not have seen him, Meg, it is not meant that I should. Look, darling, I have been near you—I was making a sketch of the sunrise."

Meg looked in wonder at the sketch. There was no figure there; that was the only point of interest it contained for her at the moment.

"It is not there," she said disappointedly; her voice expressed astonishment. "Then you saw nothing?"

"Nothing of what you saw."

"Then why does it come to me? I am the very last person to understand, to desire it."

"Dearest, the wisdom of God's ways is past our present very limited understanding. Why did He make the world as He did? Why did He form the mountains by the drifting of particles into the ocean? Why did He evolve the spirit of man from a source which has baffled science? Why does He let us know so much and understand so little?"

"I loved seeing him, Mike. He talked to me. I wasn't afraid while he was there. It's the wonder of it now that it's past, the strangeness; something greater than myself gets into me when the vision is there."

"Consider the privilege, Meg, the amazing privilege!"

Mike's brain was working and wondering. Why, oh why, had he not been privileged? Why had Meg again seen the Living Truth?

Meg divined his thoughts; her fervent wish was that he also had seen it. "Nothing further from fear ever possessed me, Mike, and yet now I feel horribly unnerved. If you hadn't come to me, I don't know what I should have done. The first time it was different. I wonder why. I wasn't a bit like this, was I, dearest?"

"No, I don't know why you feel so differently this time. What happened? Can you tell me, or would you rather wait?" Mike recognized her nervous state.

"I came out to see the sunrise. I hadn't slept—I was thinking about the opening of the tomb and of all that is to happen afterwards." Mike kissed her tenderly and understandingly. "I was really feeling very selfish and worldly; and anything but spiritual. I was wondering if your plans weren't too utterly silly, dearest, if, after all, we hadn't got into a rather unreal and unhealthy way of looking at things. I was almost convinced that you ought to stop standing on your head. Quite suddenly the luminous figure, with the sunrays behind its head, stood in front of me. Its eyes were fixed on me with a full and wonderful understanding of all that was in my heart. I instantly knew that my fears were understood, and the odd thing, now that I look back upon it, is that I wasn't afraid. The understanding seemed natural, the understanding of my higher self. It was only when the vision grew dimmer and dimmer that I began to feel this silly nerve-exhaustion; it was only then that I began to wonder and doubt."

"I'm not surprised, Meg—you're splendid. Any other woman would have fainted, I suppose."

"No, Mike, they wouldn't; once you've seen and understood, it is like being born again, with fresh understanding, with fresh eyes. There's nothing more to be afraid of than there is in seeing death. I was terrified of death until I saw Uncle Harry die. This is just the same thing. Your fear is forgotten, a new understanding possesses you. My only wonder is why I have never seen anything of the same sort before, and now why, oh why, is it this strange figure of Akhnaton? Why this King who lived thirteen hundred years before we begin to count our centuries? I should so love to see Uncle Harry, and it is such a little time since he went. Why have I never seen him?"

"My darling, three thousand years are like the minutes spent in boiling an egg when you dabble with eternity. There is nothing to choose between Noah and Napoleon; Moses and Mohammed are twins in point of years."

"I know," Meg said. "There is nothing so hard for a human mind to grasp as the impossibility of grasping the meaning of infinity. It can't shake off its own limitations. But all the same, if I was to tell anyone except you, dearest, that I had seen and held a conversation with the spirit of a Pharaoh who lived before Moses, what would they think? what would they say?"

"The very few who stand in the Light would not be astonished. Those who are still completely earth-tied and glory in their ignorance would scoff and call you crazy; but would they matter?"

"There was one thing he told me, Mike, which gives me great happiness. He called me 'the mistress of your happiness,' he understood about our love."

"That was his favourite name for his wife. He was a devoted husband and lover."

"Then he really understood?"

"What does Aton not understand, beloved?"

"But this was Akhnaton, Mike. He said, 'my heart was happy in my Queen.' He said 'the great Giver of Light is none other than the loving father, the tender husband, the devoted son, because there is none other than the living Aton, whose kingdom is within you. You are Aton and Aton is you. He is everything which He has made.'"

"That is exactly it," Mike said. "You saw the figure of Akhnaton just as people who lived in Syria saw the figure of Christ—God's manifestation of Himself. Of course He understood our love and our happiness. His bowels of compassion yearn for His children. He is the spirit of Aton—of God—as manifested by Akhnaton."

"You are to go, beloved, there is to be no holding you back. I have received my commission; it is to buckle on your armour. Oh, dearest, even if all this should be the fabrication of my own dreams, my brain, it is not self-created—it has some purpose, some meaning. God has put it there."

"Everything has its meaning, Meg, nothing is too small to be intentional."

"I am to help you by 'the perfection of my love,' and oh, Mike, it is so imperfect, so pitifully imperfect, so pitifully human!".

"Pitifully, darling? Why not beautifully human?"

"Because it thinks first of my own wants; my love makes me wish to keep you all to myself, to prevent you going on this journey."

"The beautiful thing about Akhnaton's teachings, beloved, is the value of happiness, the beauty of humanity. In this capital he gave his people wonderful gardens and decorated his public places and temples with the simple joys of nature; he encouraged music and art and everything that could give his people happiness. He desired his people to enjoy the world, he wanted them to see it as he saw it, a wonderful kingdom, radiating with love. He first taught the world that there need be no sickness or misery if there was no sin. Light disperses darkness. His was the purest and highest religion the world was ever given until the mission of Jesus Christ. The rays of Aton first symbolized the divinity of God."

The voice of Mohammed Ali brought the lovers back to the practical things of the hour—a hot bath and the necessity of dressing and eating a good breakfast. For the time being, the opening of the tomb had been forgotten. Indeed, Meg found it very hard to bring herself into touch with all which had been until this morning the absorbing topic for days past.

She had a number of household duties to attend to as soon as breakfast was over—putting in order the room for the Overseer-General and devising the menu for the day's food. There were to be extra mouths to feed—the photographer, the Chief Inspector and a few invited fellow-Egyptologists who had been asked for the occasion. It was Freddy's day.

Before they parted to get ready for breakfast Meg said, "I suppose Freddy will be quite lost to us until the hour arrives! I wonder when we shall be permitted to see inside it?" She referred to the tomb.

"Not to-day," Mike said. "At least, I don't expect so. Perhaps to-morrow. Anyhow, we shall hear all that Freddy has to tell us to-night or at lunch-time."

"Poor old Freddy! I shall be relieved when the thing is over, when he can settle down to regular work again. There will be lots to do, won't there?"

"You look tired," Mike said. Meg's eyes were deeply shadowed.

"Do you wonder? I've lived three thousand years in half an hour. I've been born again, so to speak. I really feel only half here. Oh, Mike," she said, impulsively, "I wish I knew more! I should so like to quite believe, to understand. I can never be the same again, not my careless, young, old self." She sighed.

"Do you regret it?"

"No, only I feel different, not quite so close to earth, lonely. I can't explain. I wonder how Lazarus felt? I know I'm alive, dearest, and here with you, but—don't laugh or think me hysterical—in some other way, a way I can't speak about, I feel as if I had been dead and come back. I've seen what no one else has, I've been where neither you nor Freddy have been."

"With those whose existence is in 'the hills of the West.'"

"A cold tub will do me good, dearest." Meg hurried off.

The sun was pouring its full wonder over the land. The mystery of the dawn was as if it had never been. Egypt was bathed in light, the fullest light that ever was on land or sea.