Precisely at this point the sleeper stirs his hand slightly, but enough to throw the record of several succeeding years into uncertainty and confusion.  Here and there, however, we catch imperfect glimpses of the Egyptian lad, steadily growing up to be a tall young man.  He is dressed in European clothes, and lives and moves amid civilized surroundings:  Egypt, with her pyramids, palms, and river, we see no more.  The priest’s son seems now to be immersed in studies; he shows a genius for music and painting, and is diligently storing his mind with other than Egyptian lore.  With him, or never far away, we meet a man considerably older than the student,—­good-natured, whimsical, round of head and face and insignificant of feature.  Towards him does the student observe the profoundest deference, bowing before him, and addressing him as “Master Hiero,” or “Master Glyphic.”  Master Hiero, for his part, calls the Egyptian “Manetho”; from which we might infer his descent from the celebrated historian of that name, but will not insist upon this genealogy.  As for the studies, from certain signs we fancy them tending towards theology; the descendant of Egyptian priests is to become a Christian clergyman!  Nevertheless, he still wears his talismanic ring.  Does he believe it saved him from the crocodile?  Does his Christian enlightenment not set him free from such superstition?

So much we piece together from detached glimpses; but now, as the magic ray steadies once more, things become again distinct.  Judging from the style and appointments of Master Hiero Glyphic’s house, he is a wealthy man, and eccentric as well.  It is full of strange incongruities and discords; beauties in abundance, but ill harmonized.  One half the house is built like an Egyptian temple, and is enriched with many spoils from the valley of the Nile; and here a secret chamber is set apart for Manetho; its very existence is known to no one save himself and Master Hiero.  He spends much of his time here, meditating and working amidst his books and papers, playing on his violin, or leaning idly back in his chair, watching the sunlight, through the horizontal aperture high above, his head, creep stealthily across the opposite wall.

But these saintly and scholarly reveries are disturbed anon.  Master Hiero, though a bachelor, has a half-sister, a pale, handsome, indolent young woman, with dark hair and eyes, and a rather haughty manner.  Helen appears, and thenceforth the household lives and breathes according to her languid bidding.  Manetho comes out of his retirement, and dances reverential attendance upon her.  He is twenty-five years old, now; tall, slender, and far from ill-looking, with his dark, narrow eyes, wide brows, and tapering face.  His manners are gentle, subdued, insinuating, and altogether he seems to please Helen; she condescends to him,—­more than condescends, perhaps.  Meantime, alas! there is a secret opposition in progress, embodied in the shapely person of that bright-eyed gypsy of a girl whom her mistress Helen calls Salome.  There is no question as to Salome’s complete subjection to the attractions of the young embryo clergyman; she pursues him with eyes and heart, and seeing him by Helen’s side, she is miserably but dumbly jealous.