As I went on, the interest grew; any lingering doubts which
I might have had changed to wonder and admiration. The house seemed to
be a veritable storehouse of marvels of antique art. In addition to
the curios, big and little, in Mr. Trelawny’s own room—from the great
sarcophagi down to the scarabs of all kinds in the cabinets—the great
hall, the staircase landings, the study, and even the boudoir were full
of antique pieces which would have made a collector’s mouth water. Miss Trelawny from the first came with me, and looked with growing
interest at everything. After having examined some cabinets of
exquisite amulets she said to me in quite a naive way:

“You will hardly believe that I have of late seldom even looked at any
of these things. It is only since Father has been ill that I seem to
have even any curiosity about them. But now, they grow and grow on me
to quite an absorbing degree. I wonder if it is that the collector’s
blood which I have in my veins is beginning to manifest itself. If so,
the strange thing is that I have not felt the call of it before. Of
course I know most of the big things, and have examined them more or
less; but really, in a sort of way I have always taken them for
granted, as though they had always been there. I have noticed the same
thing now and again with family pictures, and the way they are taken
for granted by the family. If you will let me examine them with you it
will be delightful!”

It was a joy to me to hear her talk in such a way; and her last
suggestion quite thrilled me. Together we went round the various rooms
and passages, examining and admiring the magnificent curios. There was
such a bewildering amount and variety of objects that we could only
glance at most of them; but as we went along we arranged that we should
take them seriatim, day by day, and examine them more closely. In the
hall was a sort of big frame of floriated steel work which Margaret
said her father used for lifting the heavy stone lids of the
sarcophagi. It was not heavy and could be moved about easily enough. By aid of this we raised the covers in turn and looked at the endless
series of hieroglyphic pictures cut in most of them. In spite of her
profession of ignorance Margaret knew a good deal about them; her year
of life with her father had had unconsciously its daily and hourly
lesson. She was a remarkably clever and acute-minded girl, and with a
prodigious memory; so that her store of knowledge, gathered
unthinkingly bit by bit, had grown to proportions that many a scholar
might have envied. And yet it was all so naive and unconscious; so girlish and simple. She was so fresh in her views and ideas, and had so little thought of
self, that in her companionship I forgot for the time all the troubles
and mysteries which enmeshed the house; and I felt like a boy again.... The most interesting of the sarcophagi were undoubtedly the three in
Mr. Trelawny’s room. Of these, two were of dark stone, one of porphyry
and the other of a sort of ironstone. These were wrought with some
hieroglyphs. But the third was strikingly different. It was of some
yellow-brown substance of the dominating colour effect of Mexican onyx,
which it resembled in many ways, excepting that the natural pattern of
its convolutions was less marked. Here and there were patches almost
transparent—certainly translucent. The whole chest, cover and all,
was wrought with hundreds, perhaps thousands, of minute hieroglyphics,
seemingly in an endless series. Back, front, sides, edges, bottom, all
had their quota of the dainty pictures, the deep blue of their
colouring showing up fresh and sharply edged in the yellow stone. It
was very long, nearly nine feet; and perhaps a yard wide. The sides
undulated, so that there was no hard line. Even the corners took such
excellent curves that they pleased the eye. “Truly,” I said, “this
must have been made for a giant!”

“Or for a giantess!” said Margaret. This sarcophagus stood near to one of the windows. It was in one
respect different from all the other sarcophagi in the place. All the
others in the house, of whatever material—granite, porphyry,
ironstone, basalt, slate, or wood—were quite simple in form within. Some of them were plain of interior surface; others were engraved, in
whole or part, with hieroglyphics. But each and all of them had no
protuberances or uneven surface anywhere. They might have been used
for baths; indeed, they resembled in many ways Roman baths of stone or
marble which I had seen. Inside this, however, was a raised space,
outlined like a human figure. I asked Margaret if she could explain it
in any way. For answer she said:

“Father never wished to speak about this. It attracted my attention
from the first; but when I asked him about it he said:  ‘I shall tell
you all about it some day, little girl—if I live! But not yet! The
story is not yet told, as I hope to tell it to you! Some day, perhaps
soon, I shall know all; and then we shall go over it together. And a
mighty interesting story you will find it—from first to last!’  Once
afterward I said, rather lightly I am afraid:  ‘Is that story of the
sarcophagus told yet, Father?’  He shook his head, and looked at me
gravely as he said:  ‘Not yet, little girl; but it will be—if I
live—if I live!’  His repeating that phrase about his living rather
frightened me; I never ventured to ask him again.”

Somehow this thrilled me. I could not exactly say how or why; but it
seemed like a gleam of light at last. There are, I think, moments when
the mind accepts something as true; though it can account for neither
the course of the thought, nor, if there be more than one thought, the
connection between them. Hitherto we had been in such outer darkness
regarding Mr. Trelawny, and the strange visitation which had fallen on
him, that anything which afforded a clue, even of the faintest and most
shadowy kind, had at the outset the enlightening satisfaction of a
certainty. Here were two lights of our puzzle. The first that Mr.
Trelawny associated with this particular curio a doubt of his own
living. The second that he had some purpose or expectation with regard
to it, which he would not disclose, even to his daughter, till
complete. Again it was to be borne in mind that this sarcophagus
differed internally from all the others. What meant that odd raised
place? I said nothing to Miss Trelawny, for I feared lest I should
either frighten her or buoy her up with future hopes; but I made up my
mind that I would take an early opportunity for further investigation. Close beside the sarcophagus was a low table of green stone with red
veins in it, like bloodstone. The feet were fashioned like the paws of
a jackal, and round each leg was twined a full-throated snake wrought
exquisitely in pure gold. On it rested a strange and very beautiful
coffer or casket of stone of a peculiar shape.