“When I had penetrated the ghost of this ancient garden for a thousand yards the light from the opening was no longer of any service.  I lighted a candle; and its yellow rays fell upon a square portal into which led another flight of steps.  And I went down.

“There were eighteen steps descending into a square stone room.  Strange gleams and glimmers from wall and ceiling flashed dimly in my eyes under the wavering flame of the candle.  Then the flame grew still—­still as death—­and Death lay at my feet—­there on the stone floor—­a man, square shouldered, hairless, the cobwebs of his tunic mantling him, lying face downward, arms outflung.

“After a moment I stooped and touched him, and the entire prostrate figure dissolved into dust where it lay, leaving at my feet a shadow shape in thin silhouette against the pavement—­merely a gray layer of finest dust shaped like a man, a tracery of impalpable powder on the stones.

“Upward and around me I passed the burning candle; vast figures in blue and red and gold grew out of the darkness; the painted walls sparkled; the shadows that had slept through all those centuries trembled and shrank away into distant corners.

“And then—­and then I saw the gold edges of her sandals sparkle in the darkness, and the clasped girdle of virgin gold around her slender waist glimmered like purest flame!”

Burke, leaning far across the table, interlocked hands tightening, stared and stared into space.  A smile edged his mouth; his voice grew wonderfully gentle: 

“Why, she was scarcely eighteen—­this child—­there so motionless, so lifelike, with the sandals edging her little upturned feet, and the small hands of her folded between the breasts.  It was as though she had just stretched herself out there—­scarcely sound asleep as yet, and her thick, silky hair—­cut as they cut children’s hair in these days, you know—­cradled her head and cheeks.

[Illustration:  “‘As though . . . scarcely sound asleep as yet.’”]

“So marvelous the mimicry of life, so absolute the deception of breathing sleep, that I scarce dared move, fearing to awaken her.

“When I did move I forgot the dusty shape of the dead at my feet, and left, full across his neck, the imprint of a spurred riding boot.  It gave me my first shudder; I turned, feeling beneath my foot the soft, yielding powder, and stood aghast.  Then—­it is absurd!—­but I felt as a man feels who has trodden inadvertently upon another’s foot—­and in an impulse of reparation I stooped hastily and attempted to smooth out the mortal dust which bore the imprint of my heel.  But the fine powder flaked my glove, and, looking about for something to compose the ashes with, I picked up a papyrus scroll.  Perhaps he himself had written on it; nobody can ever know, and I used it as a sort of hoe to scrape him together and smooth him out on the stones.”

The young man drew a yellowish roll of paper-like substance from his pocket and laid it on the table.