unrolling is over!" She looked at me long,
and a faint suggestion of a smile came over her face as she said:

"Perhaps you had better stay, too! It may be useful to you in your
work as a barrister!" She smiled out as she met my eyes: but in an
instant she changed. Her face grew grave, and deadly white. In a far
away voice she said:

"Father is right! It is a terrible occasion; we need all to be serious
over it. But all the same--nay, for that very reason you had better
stay, Malcolm! You may be glad, later on, that you were present
tonight!"

My heart sank down, down, at her words; but I thought it better to say
nothing. Fear was stalking openly enough amongst us already!

By this time Mr. Trelawny, assisted by Mr. Corbeck and Doctor
Winchester, had raised the lid of the ironstone sarcophagus which
contained the mummy of the Queen. It was a large one; but it was none
too big. The mummy was both long and broad and high; and was of such
weight that it was no easy task, even for the four of us, to lift it
out. Under Mr. Trelawny's direction we laid it out on the table
prepared for it.

Then, and then only, did the full horror of the whole thing burst upon
me! There, in the full glare of the light, the whole material and
sordid side of death seemed staringly real. The outer wrappings, torn
and loosened by rude touch, and with the colour either darkened by dust
or worn light by friction, seemed creased as by rough treatment; the
jagged edges of the wrapping-cloths looked fringed; the painting was
patchy, and the varnish chipped. The coverings were evidently many,
for the bulk was great. But through all, showed that unhidable human
figure, which seems to look more horrible when partially concealed than
at any other time. What was before us was Death, and nothing else.
All the romance and sentiment of fancy had disappeared. The two elder
men, enthusiasts who had often done such work, were not disconcerted;
and Doctor Winchester seemed to hold himself in a business-like
attitude, as if before the operating-table. But I felt low-spirited,
and miserable, and ashamed; and besides I was pained and alarmed by
Margaret's ghastly pallor.

Then the work began. The unrolling of the mummy cat had prepared me
somewhat for it; but this was so much larger, and so infinitely more
elaborate, that it seemed a different thing. Moreover, in addition to
the ever present sense of death and humanity, there was a feelin