I could not move; my whole body seemed numb. By gazing upward I found that I could see the stars! Yes, I recognized the star of Hathor, in all her radiant beauty. How my head ached! How my ears roared! Worse than all was the agony of a ceaseless throb-throb, beat-beat, at the back of my head. It was as though someone were hitting me with a hammer, rhythmically, relentlessly. Perhaps after all I _was_ dead! No, there were the sharp outlines of the tomb-shaft and the stars above! I wonder whose tomb it is? Is it charted? Oh, will that throbbing never stop? Won’t someone come? Help! Help! As if in answer to my cry, high above me I saw a queer, yet strikingly familiar figure, a figure silhouetted black against the sky. The figure leaned over and gazed downwards into the shaft. I noticed its long and thickly curled wig. “Ha, ha! A wig of the New Empire,” said I to myself. Its owner’s face I could not see, but he—or she—yes, it was a woman, peered long and earnestly into the gloomy depths of the shaft where I lay. Suddenly, and as though through the medium of some unnatural light, her face was revealed. “I was right,” thought I. “It _is_ a woman, and by her robes, a woman of the New Empire!” But what features, what an expression! Never shall I forget it. A face of the most exotic beauty; of a type I knew instantly. It could only have belonged to one of the ladies of the house of Amenhotep the Magnificent! Such a face the Royal Sculptor Beq might carve, or Amenhotep, Superintendent of the Royal Craftsmen. The beautiful apparition addressed me in the soft tones of the educated Egyptian. I found that I could rise without difficulty at her bidding. Struggling to my feet I pushed a stone at the side of the tomb chamber and passed through a narrow false door which opened as my hand pressed the secret block. I found myself once more out under the sunset glow. All this seemed perfectly natural to me. But, I remember thinking how strange it was that I should find the pyramids of the Antefs and Mentuhoteps, the sphinx-lined Causeways, and the many Mortuary Temples hereabouts, standing clearly defined against the hills, and seemingly in all their original beauty. Nay, the very cypresses, palms, karobs and myrrh trees which flanked the ivory-toned Causeway leading to Queen Hatshepsut’s Temple, were to be seen nodding gracefully in the evening breeze. My gaze fell questionably upon the smiling face of my adorable savior. She must have remarked my bewilderment. Yet, without a word she turned and started swiftly toward a small white house half-concealed in a dense grove of feathery acacias.