“Prepare then to see _nine_, instead of one of these mighty works—eight of them built after this first Pyramid of King Cheops, but, even so, thousands of years old, and battered not so much by the hand of Time as by the hands of destructive men. Turn towards the river, child of To-day, and, with closed eyes, bow seven times.” Rachel again obeyed, and, when she turned and looked, instead of one, a group of Pyramids stood up grandly against such a sunset sky as she had never before imagined. The sand of the desert, the flowing river, the worn sides of the huge buildings, were washed by a rosy glow. And battered and worn, as they now looked, they were still the Pyramids as they had stood for thousands and thousands of years before she was born. Changed though it was, Rachel recognised at once the great tomb of King Cheops, and as she looked she listened to Sheshà speaking, though somehow the voice sounded faint and far away. “_All things dread Time, but Time itself dreads the Pyramids_,” she heard him say. And then, after a moment, “Gaze well, O child, upon one of the Seven Wonders of the World.” The last words came so faintly that Rachel turned to look at her friend—and instead found Miss Moore at her elbow. She was still consulting her watch, and Rachel was still standing in front of the black Rosetta Stone. “I think we ought to go,” said Miss Moore. “It will take us some time to get back, and we mustn’t be late for lunch.” Rachel drew a long breath, and followed her governess in silence. When you have just stepped out of Egypt into the British Museum, you feel you don’t want to talk—and Rachel scarcely spoke all the way home. On the hall table, waiting for her, lay a letter from her father, and his little daughter eagerly pounced upon it, and ran with it to her bedroom. Mother was much better already, the letter said, and, after a great deal of other news, Rachel came upon a sentence which interested her more than her father could have imagined, when he wrote it. “I have just seen the Pyramids! One of these days you and I will go to Egypt and look at them again together. But you must learn something about them first, or you won’t be half so excited about them as I am.” Rachel laughed gleefully. “Dad hasn’t seen King Cheops, anyhow,” she thought. “And he’d be certain to think I dreamt it if I told him all about Sheshà and the slaves. No one would believe me—so I shan’t say anything about this lovely adventure.” She ran down to lunch, happy and excited by her secret. “Well, how did you enjoy the British Museum?” enquired Aunt Hester, when she had heard all the news contained in the letter from Egypt. “Oh, I _loved_ it!” exclaimed Rachel, and two little dimples appeared at the corners of her mouth as she tried to repress a smile. “When can I go again?” Miss Moore looked a little surprised, for she remembered no particular enthusiasm on Rachel’s part during the morning.