It being
removed, a profusely full robe of white linen had appeared, covering
the body from the throat to the feet. And such linen! We all bent over to look at it. Margaret lost her concern, in her woman’s interest in fine stuff. Then
the rest of us looked with admiration; for surely such linen was never
seen by the eyes of our age. It was as fine as the finest silk. But
never was spun or woven silk which lay in such gracious folds,
constrict though they were by the close wrappings of the mummy cloth,
and fixed into hardness by the passing of thousands of years. Round the neck it was delicately embroidered in pure gold with tiny
sprays of sycamore; and round the feet, similarly worked, was an
endless line of lotus plants of unequal height, and with all the
graceful abandon of natural growth. Across the body, but manifestly not surrounding it, was a girdle of
jewels. A wondrous girdle, which shone and glowed with all the forms
and phases and colours of the sky! The buckle was a great yellow stone, round of outline, deep and curved,
as if a yielding globe had been pressed down. It shone and glowed, as
though a veritable sun lay within; the rays of its light seemed to
strike out and illumine all round. Flanking it were two great
moonstones of lesser size, whose glowing, beside the glory of the
sunstone, was like the silvery sheen of moonlight. And then on either side, linked by golden clasps of exquisite shape,
was a line of flaming jewels, of which the colours seemed to glow. Each of these stones seemed to hold a living star, which twinkled in
every phase of changing light. Margaret raised her hands in ecstasy. She bent over to examine more
closely; but suddenly drew back and stood fully erect at her grand
height. She seemed to speak with the conviction of absolute knowledge
as she said:

“That is no cerement! It was not meant for the clothing of death! It
is a marriage robe!”

Mr. Trelawny leaned over and touched the linen robe. He lifted a fold
at the neck, and I knew from the quick intake of his breath that
something had surprised him. He lifted yet a little more; and then he,
too, stood back and pointed, saying:

“Margaret is right! That dress is not intended to be worn by the dead! See! her figure is not robed in it. It is but laid upon her.”  He
lifted the zone of jewels and handed it to Margaret. Then with both
hands he raised the ample robe, and laid it across the arms which she
extended in a natural impulse. Things of such beauty were too precious
to be handled with any but the greatest care. We all stood awed at the beauty of the figure which, save for the face
cloth, now lay completely nude before us. Mr. Trelawny bent over, and
with hands that trembled slightly, raised this linen cloth which was of
the same fineness as the robe. As he stood back and the whole glorious
beauty of the Queen was revealed, I felt a rush of shame sweep over me. It was not right that we should be there, gazing with irreverent eyes
on such unclad beauty:  it was indecent; it was almost sacrilegious! And yet the white wonder of that beautiful form was something to dream
of. It was not like death at all; it was like a statue carven in ivory
by the hand of a Praxiteles. There was nothing of that horrible
shrinkage which death seems to effect in a moment. There was none of
the wrinkled toughness which seems to be a leading characteristic of
most mummies. There was not the shrunken attenuation of a body dried in
the sand, as I had seen before in museums. All the pores of the body
seemed to have been preserved in some wonderful way. The flesh was
full and round, as in a living person; and the skin was as smooth as
satin. The colour seemed extraordinary. It was like ivory, new ivory;
except where the right arm, with shattered, blood-stained wrist and
missing hand had lain bare to exposure in the sarcophagus for so many
tens of centuries. With a womanly impulse; with a mouth that drooped with pity, with eyes
that flashed with anger, and cheeks that flamed, Margaret threw over
the body the beautiful robe which lay across her arm. Only the face
was then to be seen. This was more startling even than the body, for
it seemed not dead, but alive. The eyelids were closed; but the long,
black, curling lashes lay over on the cheeks. The nostrils, set in
grave pride, seemed to have the repose which, when it is seen in life,
is greater than the repose of death. The full, red lips, though the
mouth was not open, showed the tiniest white line of pearly teeth
within. Her hair, glorious in quantity and glossy black as the raven’s
wing, was piled in great masses over the white forehead, on which a few
curling tresses strayed like tendrils. I was amazed at the likeness to
Margaret, though I had had my mind prepared for this by Mr. Corbeck’s
quotation of her father’s statement. This woman—I could not think of
her as a mummy or a corpse—was the image of Margaret as my eyes had
first lit on her. The likeness was increased by the jewelled ornament
which she wore in her hair, the “Disk and Plumes”, such as Margaret,
too, had worn. It, too, was a glorious jewel; one noble pearl of
moonlight lustre, flanked by carven pieces of moonstone. Mr. Trelawny was overcome as he looked. He quite broke down; and when
Margaret flew to him and held him close in her arms and comforted him,
I heard him murmur brokenly:

“It looks as if you were dead, my child!”

There was a long silence. I could hear without the roar of the wind,
which was now risen to a tempest, and the furious dashing of the waves
far below. Mr. Trelawny’s voice broke the spell:

“Later on we must try and find out the process of embalming. It is not
like any that I know. There does not seem to have been any opening cut
for the withdrawing of the viscera and organs, which apparently remain
intact within the body. Then, again, there is no moisture in the
flesh; but its place is supplied with something else, as though wax or
stearine had been conveyed into the veins by some subtle process. I
wonder could it be possible that at that time they could have used
paraffin. It might have been, by some process that we know not, pumped
into the veins, where it hardened!”

Margaret, having thrown a white sheet over the Queen’s body, asked us
to bring it to her own room, where we laid it on her bed. Then she
sent us away, saying:

“Leave her alone with me. There are still many hours to pass, and I do
not like to leave her lying there, all stark in the glare of light. This may be the Bridal she prepared for—the Bridal of Death; and at
least she shall wear her pretty robes.”

When presently she brought me back to her room, the dead Queen was
dressed in the robe of fine linen with the embroidery of gold; and all
her beautiful jewels were in place. Candles were lit around her, and
white flowers lay upon her breast. Hand in hand we stood looking at her for a while. Then with a sigh,
Margaret covered her with one of her own snowy sheets.