Near to, on shelves in
a side case, were Rameses' son, Meneptah, and above, his son, Seti
II, while in other cases were the mortal remains of many more of the
royalties of Egypt. He looked at the proud face of Rameses and at the
little fringe of white locks turned yellow by the embalmer's spices,
also at the raised left arm. He remembered how the Director had told
him that when they were unrolling this mighty monarch they went away
to lunch, and that presently the man who had been left in charge of the
body rushed into the room with his hair on end, and said that the dead
king had lifted his arm and pointed at him.
Back they went, and there, true enough, was the arm lifted; nor were
they ever able to get it quite into its place again. The explanation
given was that the warmth of the sun had contracted the withered
muscles, a very natural and correct explanation.
Still, Smith wished that he had not recollected the story just at this
moment, especially as the arm seemed to move while he contemplated it
--a very little, but still to move.
He turned round and gazed at Meneptah, whose hollow eyes stared at him
from between the wrappings carelessly thrown across the parchment-like
and ashen face.
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