And they went through the familiar arch into a large, light room with three windows. Facing them was the familiar mummy-case. And at a table by the window sat the learned gentleman. They knew him at once, though his hair was white. He was one of the faces that do not change with age. In his hand was the Amulet—complete and perfect. He rubbed his other hand across his forehead in the way they were so used to. “Dreams, dreams!” he said; “old age is full of them!” “You’ve been in dreams with us before now,” said Robert, “don’t you remember?” “I do, indeed,” said he. The room had many more books than the Fitzroy Street room, and far more curious and wonderful Assyrian and Egyptian objects. “The most wonderful dreams I ever had had you in them.” “Where,” asked Cyril, “did you get that thing in your hand?” “If you weren’t just a dream,” he answered, smiling, you’d remember that you gave it to me.” “But where did we get it?” Cyril asked eagerly. “Ah, you never would tell me that,” he said, “You always had your little mysteries. You dear children! What a difference you made to that old Bloomsbury house! I wish I could dream you oftener. Now you’re grown up you’re not like you used to be.” “Grown up?” said Anthea. The learned gentleman pointed to a frame with four photographs in it. “There you are,” he said. The children saw four grown-up people’s portraits—two ladies, two gentlemen—and looked on them with loathing. “Shall we grow up like _that?_” whispered Jane. “How perfectly horrid!” “If we’re ever like that, we sha’nn’t know it’s horrid, I expect,” Anthea with some insight whispered back. “You see, you get used to yourself while you’re changing. It’s—it’s being so sudden makes it seem so frightful now.” The learned gentleman was looking at them with wistful kindness. “Don’t let me undream you just yet,” he said. There was a pause. “Do you remember _when_ we gave you that Amulet?” Cyril asked suddenly. “You know, or you would if you weren’t a dream, that it was on the 3rd December, 1905. I shall never forget _that_ day.” “Thank you,” said Cyril, earnestly; “oh, thank you very much.” “You’ve got a new room,” said Anthea, looking out of the window, “and what a lovely garden!” “Yes,” said he, “I’m too old now to care even about being near the Museum. This is a beautiful place. Do you know—I can hardly believe you’re just a dream, you do look so exactly real. Do you know...” his voice dropped, “I can say it to _you_, though, of course, if I said it to anyone that wasn’t a dream they’d call me mad; there was something about that Amulet you gave me—something very mysterious.” “There was that,” said Robert.