"Well," I said, when at length I had read out and carefully examined
these writings and paragraphs, at least those of them that were still
easily legible, "that is the conclusion of the whole matter, Leo, and
now you can form your own opinion on it. I have already formed mine."

"And what is it?" he asked, in his quick way.

"It is this. I believe that potsherd to be perfectly genuine, and that,
wonderful as it may seem, it has come down in your family from since
the fourth century before Christ. The entries absolutely prove it, and
therefore, however improbable it may seem, it must be accepted. But
there I stop. That your remote ancestress, the Egyptian princess, or
some scribe under her direction, wrote that which we see on the sherd
I have no doubt, nor have I the slightest doubt but that her sufferings
and the loss of her husband had turned her head, and that she was not
right in her mind when she did write it."

"How do you account for what my father saw and heard there?" asked Leo.

"Coincidence. No doubt there are bluffs on the coast of Africa that
look something like a man's head, and plenty of people who speak bastard
Arabic. Also, I believe that there are lots of swamps. Another thing
is, Leo, and I am sorry to say it, but I do not believe that your poor
father was quite right when he wrote that letter. He had met with
a great trouble, and also he had allowed this story to prey on his
imagination, and he was a very imaginative man. Anyway, I believe that
the whole thing is the most unmitigated rubbish. I know that there are
curious things and forces in nature which we rarely meet with, and, when
we do meet them, cannot understand. But until I see it with my own eyes,
which I am not likely to, I never will believe that there is any means