She rubbed her eyes. “It’s so strange,” she began, dreamily. “Was all that great Pyramid built only to hold a little grave? Because I suppose that was what the stone thing that the king looked down on, really was?” “It was the outside _case_ of a coffin—yes,” said Sheshà. “Such a case is called a _sarcophagus_. The real coffin was made of wood, placed within the sarcophagus, upon which a granite lid was fixed and sealed down when a man was dead.” “Why did this Pharaoh want such a great place only for a tomb?” asked Rachel, still puzzled. “Fancy making thousands and thousands of people work, just to build a great heap over a grave! Why did he do it?” “Partly because he wanted to be remembered for ever (and though he was forgotten for ages, we are now talking about him after six thousand years!) But also because of what was taught by the ancient religion of the Egyptians.” “What was that?” asked Rachel. Sheshà smiled, his grave, strange smile. “It taught many things difficult to explain to a little maid of to-day. But one thing was this. When a man died, his soul left his body, and wandered about, entering into other bodies—possibly for hundreds of years. But it might happen that, after many ages, the soul should want to return to its old home—its old body. Therefore, that body was carefully preserved, in case the soul should wish to re-enter it.” “But if it was very long before it wanted to come back it would find its home turned to dust, wouldn’t it?” “For that we provided,” answered Sheshà, “by preserving the poor body in a way that is called _embalming_. We filled it with sweet spices, and wrapped it closely in linen bandages, and——” “I know! The dead people like that are called _mummies_, aren’t they? I was just going to ask Miss Moore to take me to see them when I met you!” Rachel interrupted. [Illustration] “There are many such embalmed bodies in your great museum. When you see them, little maid, remember that you are looking upon the very features of men and women who lived under this blue sky, and enjoyed this sunshine, thousands of years before their bodies were taken to your grey city beside the Thames. They were people who worshipped indeed, but gods very different from the God worshipped in your churches and cathedrals of to-day.” “You worshipped the river, didn’t you?” asked Rachel, presently, as Sheshà was silent. “Osiris, God of the River and the Sun,” murmured Sheshà, as though to himself. “Him we worshipped, and Isis, the fruitful Earth, and—” He paused suddenly, and looked down at Rachel. “Our worship is difficult for you to understand. Would it please you instead, to behold this place as it looks _now_—to the travellers of To-day. As your father, for instance, beheld it only this morning?” “Oh _yes_,” cried Rachel eagerly. “That’s just what I _should_ like.”