sleep was not to be dreamed of that night for either of us well people. i had thought of a plan. leaving miss ottley to watch the unconscious but ceaselessly babbling patient, i scoured out the sarcophagus, and then built an enormous fire before the pylon. over this i hung the arab's cauldron. by nightfall i had the sarcophagus nigh abrim with hot water. it formed a huge but most admirable bath. it was a heroic experiment to make; but the dark angel was in the cavern and i had little chance left. kill or cure. it seemed a toss of the coin either way, for sir robert was dying fast. after the bath he slipped into a state of blank insensibility. miss ottley thought him asleep, and she took heart to hope. i did not deceive her. for four hours i waited, my finger continually on his pulse. it grew continually weaker. i administered nitro-glycerine every half hour, but at length even that spur failed.
"miss ottley," said i, "you must prepare for the worst."
she showed me a face of more than mortal courage. pride is not always amiss in characters like[pg 26] hers. "i have felt it all along," she said quietly. "will he regain his senses?"
"yes. at least i think he will—before the end."
"is there no hope?"
"none—unless he can be miraculously aroused. pardon me—is he very much attached to you?"
"no—his heart and soul are wrapped up in his work. he died, to all intents and purposes, the hour he was shot. his terrible disappointment had deprived him of his best support."
"the robbery, you mean?"
"no—the knowledge of his failure. he made certain of finding the body of ptahmes."
"ah!" said i—and gave myself to thought. when i looked up next miss ottley was gazing at her father with a marble countenance, but tears were streaming from her eyes.
"you love him," i whispered.
"more than all the world," she answered simply. her voice rang as true and unbroken as the chiming of a bell. i began in spite of myself to admire miss ottley.
ten minutes passed; minutes of hideously oppressive silence. then, without warning, sir robert's eyelids flickered and opened. there was the light of reason in them. i bent over him and his glance encountered mine. i pressed his hand and said in brisk, cheerful tones, "you must hurry up and get well, sir robert, or i shall not be able to [pg 27]restrain my curiosity. this ptahmes of yours is the most extraordinary mummy i have ever seen; and i am simply dying to take him from his shroud."
the dim eyes of the dying man actually glowed. his fingers clutched at my wrist, and with a superhuman effort he gasped forth, "no—no."
"be easy," i returned, "i'll not touch him till you are well. but you must hurry. remember we are of a trade, you and i."
he smiled and very slowly his eyes closed. his breathing was absolutely imperceptible; but his pulse, though faint, was regular. i made sure and then put down his hand.
"he is dead," said miss ottley, and her voice thrilled me to the core.
"no," said i, "he is sleeping like a babe. the crisis is over. he will live."
"oh! my god!" she cried, and fell on her knees beside the bed shaken with a storm of sobbing.
i sneaked out of the temple and smoked my first pipe in three days. i was only half through it when i felt her at my side.
"no, please continue smoking," she said, "i like it, really. i have come to try and thank you."
"you can't," i replied; "i'm not a man to overestimate his own services, but this is the sort of thing that cannot be repaid by either gold or words."
"oh!" she said.
"you see," i went on, "i lied. it was to save his life—for your sake. the sight of your [pg 28]distress touched me. i am glad that he will live, of course. glad to have served you. but the fact remains, i am a liar."
"dr. pinsent!" she cried.
"oh, i daresay i'll grow used to it," i interrupted cheerfully. "perhaps i have only shed a superstition, after all. i confess to an unwonted feeling of freedom, too. undoubtedly i was shackled, in a sense. yet a convict chained for years feels naked, i am told, when he gets, suddenly, his liberty. i can easily believe it. my own experience—but enough; we leave the patient too long alone."
she flitted off like a phantom and as noiselessly. i refilled my pipe. an hour later i found them both asleep, she seated on the camp-stool leaning back against the tomb. nature had been too strong for her, poor girl. i felt towards her the brotherhood of vice. she, too, had lied—in pretending a little while before—a hatred of tobacco.
i took her quietly and gently in my arms and carried her to her own cot in the inner cabin. she did not wake.
