And then Jane felt that her hand was on a slab or table of stone, and, under her hand, something that felt like the charm that had so long hung round her neck, only it was thicker. Twice as thick. “It’s _here!_” she said, “I’ve got it!” And she hardly knew the sound of her own voice. “Come away,” repeated Rekh-marā. “I wish we could see more of this Temple,” said Robert resistingly. “Come away,” the Priest urged, “there is death all about, and strong magic. Listen.” The chanting voices seemed to have grown louder and fiercer, and light stronger. “They are coming!” cried Rekh-marā. “Quick, quick, the Amulet!” Jane held it up. “What a long time you’ve been rubbing your eyes!” said Anthea; “don’t you see we’ve got back?” The learned gentleman merely stared at her. “Miss Anthea—Miss Jane!” It was Nurse’s voice, very much higher and squeaky and more exalted than usual. “Oh, bother!” said everyone. Cyril adding, “You just go on with the dream for a sec, Mr Jimmy, we’ll be back directly. Nurse’ll come up if we don’t. _She_ wouldn’t think Rekh-marā was a dream.” Then they went down. Nurse was in the hall, an orange envelope in one hand, and a pink paper in the other. “Your Pa and Ma’s come home. ‘Reach London 11.15. Prepare rooms as directed in letter’, and signed in their two names.” “Oh, hooray! hooray! hooray!” shouted the boys and Jane. But Anthea could not shout, she was nearer crying. “Oh,” she said almost in a whisper, “then it _was_ true. And we _have_ got our hearts’ desire.” “But I don’t understand about the letter,” Nurse was saying. “I haven’t _had_ no letter.” “_Oh!_” said Jane in a queer voice, “I wonder whether it was one of those... they came that night—you know, when we were playing ‘devil in the dark’—and I put them in the hat-stand drawer, behind the clothes-brushes and”—she pulled out the drawer as she spoke—“and here they are!” There was a letter for Nurse and one for the children. The letters told how Father had done being a war-correspondent and was coming home; and how Mother and The Lamb were going to meet him in Italy and all come home together; and how The Lamb and Mother were quite well; and how a telegram would be sent to tell the day and the hour of their home-coming. “Mercy me!” said old Nurse. “I declare if it’s not too bad of you, Miss Jane. I shall have a nice to-do getting things straight for your Pa and Ma.” “Oh, never mind, Nurse,” said Jane, hugging her; “isn’t it just too lovely for anything!” “We’ll come and help you,” said Cyril. “There’s just something upstairs we’ve got to settle up, and then we’ll all come and help you.” “Get along with you,” said old Nurse, but she laughed jollily. “Nice help _you’d_ be. I know you. And it’s ten o’clock now.” There was, in fact, something upstairs that they had to settle. Quite a considerable something, too. And it took much longer than they expected. A hasty rush into the boys’ room secured the Psammead, very sandy and very cross.