"The mysteries are finished," said the old king. "Now, if any have aught
to say, let it be said openly."

A young man dressed in the robes and ornaments of an early dynasty came
forward and stood upon the steps between the Pharaoh Menes and all those
who had reigned after him. His face seemed familiar to Smith, as was
the side lock that hung down behind his right ear in token of his youth.
Where had he seen him? Ah, he remembered. Only a few hours ago lying in
one of the cases of the Museum, together with the bones of the Pharaoh
Unas.

"Your Majesties," he began, "I am the King Metesuphis. The matter that
I wish to lay before you is that of the violation of our sepulchres by
those men who now live upon the earth. The mortal bodies of many who are
gathered here to-night lie in this place to be stared at and mocked
by the curious. I myself am one of them, jawless, broken, hideous to
behold. Yonder, day by day, must my _Ka_ sit watching my desecrated
flesh, torn from the pyramid that, with cost and labour, I raised up to
be an eternal house wherein I might hide till the hour of resurrection.
Others of us lie in far lands. Thus, as he can tell you, my predecessor,
Man-kau-ra, he who built the third of the great pyramids, the Pyramid of
Her, sleeps, or rather wakes in a dark city, called London, across the
seas, a place of murk where no sun shines. Others have been burnt with
fire, others are scattered in small dust. The ornaments that were ours
are stole away and sold to the greedy; our sacred writings and our
symbols are their jest. Soon there will not be one holy grave in Egypt
that remains undefiled."

"That is so," said a voice from the company. "But four months gone the