woman whom she so much disliked had not again come between them.
After all, the promise which she had given Michael, and which she had
kept, might have availed.

As Michael had never spoken one word of love to Margaret, she had, of
course, no right to expect him to behave towards her as if they were
engaged; and yet there was that between them which meant far more than
a mere formal proposal and acceptance of marriage. Some influence had
brought them together in a manner which seemed outside themselves.
They had been the closest friends from the very first. Her vision had
united their interests.

Of marriage as the definite result of their close, yet indefinite
intimacy, Margaret still never thought. Mike and marriage seemed
qualities which separated like oil and water. All she asked of fate at
present was the continuance of their unique friendship and the life
which she found so absorbingly interesting. A year ago she had longed
to come to Egypt, but a year ago she had never dreamed that she would
become so thrilled with the excavating of a tomb which had been made
for a man who probably lived before Moses. The human side of
Egyptology was being revealed to her. She did not feel now as if her
brother was only going to discover a fresh mummy to put away in a
museum somewhere; he was going to break into the secret dwelling-house
of a man who had taken his treasures with him to live for ever in the
bowels of the smiling hills. There are few tombs in Egypt as the
Western world thinks of tombs; there are eternal mansions, gorgeously
decorated and superbly built and equipped. The abiding cities of the
Egyptians were the cities of the dead.

Margaret was living on the horizon of life. Every breath of desert air
was like delicious food; every dawn and sunset stored her heart with
dreams; each fresh intimacy with Michael placed a new jewel in the
casket of her soul; every hour with Freddy was a privilege and a
reward. In her veins the dance of youth tripped a lightsome measure.
Happiness made every moment vital.

During Michael's absence she had been down the valley and up the valley
and through its hidden ways; she was familiar now with the native life
in the camp and with the sights and sounds of Egypt. The flight of a
falcon over the Theban hills seemed as familiar to her as the bounding
of a wild rabbit on the Suffolk wolds. The desolation of the valley
had now become the Spirit of Peace, the Voice of Sympa