“Call not upon the gods,” said the Priest, “lest ye raise greater ones than ye can control. Already,” he explained to the children, “he and I are as brothers, and his welfare is dear to me as my own.” “He has told me,” the learned gentleman began, but Robert interrupted. This was no moment for manners. “Have you told him,” he asked the Priest, “all about the Amulet?” “No,” said Rekh-marā. “Then tell him now. He is very learned. Perhaps he can tell us what to do.” Rekh-marā hesitated, then told—and, oddly enough, none of the children ever could remember afterwards what it was that he did tell. Perhaps he used some magic to prevent their remembering. When he had done the learned gentleman was silent, leaning his elbow on the table and his head on his hand. “Dear Jimmy,” said Anthea gently, “don’t worry about it. We are sure to find it today, somehow.” “Yes,” said Rekh-marā, “and perhaps, with it, Death.” “It’s to bring us our hearts’ desire,” said Robert. “Who knows,” said the Priest, “what things undreamed-of and infinitely desirable lie beyond the dark gates?” “Oh, _don’t_,” said Jane, almost whimpering. The learned gentleman raised his head suddenly. “Why not,” he suggested, “go back into the Past? At a moment when the Amulet is unwatched. Wish to be with it, and that it shall be under your hand.” It was the simplest thing in the world! And yet none of them had ever thought of it. “Come,” cried Rekh-marā, leaping up. “Come _now!_” “May—may I come?” the learned gentleman timidly asked. “It’s only a dream, you know.” “Come, and welcome, oh brother,” Rekh-marā was beginning, but Cyril and Robert with one voice cried, “_No_.” “You weren’t with us in Atlantis,” Robert added, “or you’d know better than to let him come.” “Dear Jimmy,” said Anthea, “please don’t ask to come. We’ll go and be back again before you have time to know that we’re gone.” “And he, too?” “We must keep together,” said Rekh-marā, “since there is but one perfect Amulet to which I and these children have equal claims.” Jane held up the Amulet—Rekh-marā went first—and they all passed through the great arch into which the Amulet grew at the Name of Power. The learned gentleman saw through the arch a darkness lighted by smoky gleams. He rubbed his eyes. And he only rubbed them for ten seconds. The children and the Priest were in a small, dark chamber. A square doorway of massive stone let in gleams of shifting light, and the sound of many voices chanting a slow, strange hymn. They stood listening. Now and then the chant quickened and the light grew brighter, as though fuel had been thrown on a fire. “Where are we?” whispered Anthea. “And when?” whispered Robert. “This is some shrine near the beginnings of belief,” said the Egyptian shivering. “Take the Amulet and come away. It is cold here in the morning of the world.”