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was a strange sunset that night, and
it added to her fears. Though she
could not understand what they said,
she realized that it also had its effect
on the Arab diggers. They were

restless, uneasy, forgetting that
calm and fatalism that characterizes
their kind.

Before, the sunsets had all been of
gorgeous radiance. This day, as eve-
ning came on, there came into the
blue sky the whiteness of one of the
horizon clouds—a white sky, as if
paling at something terrible that was
to happen, a sky that looked down
pityingly, then had its whiteness shot

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TU ee

= Thou Shalt
Not Love

— A NOVEL BY —
GEORGIA GRAIG
FEA UUTAUALENA EA EAUAAUTUAUED CEA TUATEATHAI ENA
CHAPTER III.—Continued

And the journey through the
desert! How well Starr could believe
that oldest and sagest of all Arab
sayings that “in the desert one for-
gets everything!” If she only could!
Now she could only remember every-

' thing—everything!

Until she had seen the desert she
had thought the great sweeps of
mountains and prairie in her own
land the most wonderful sight that
God had prepared for man. But on

her first sight of the desert even they

were insignificant. It was an im-
mense sea, of great distances where
only oases showed like dark stains
and added to the mystery. Mystery
as far as the eye could see where
the desert seemed to curve up like
a shallow cup at the blue horizon.
Like some dreamed-of tropical sea,
too far away to hear it murmur, but
to imagine it.

Sometimes caravans passed their
party, trains of camels with savage-
who cried “Oosh!
Oosh!”’ and then disappeared in the
midst of the dunes touched crimson
by the dying evening sun.

The desert bewildered her
it fascinated. The thousands
thousands of sand humps,
crowned with its own dusty bush,
rising to meet the eye, wave after
wave, like some eternal procession of
mute travelers. Near the ground
dancing specks of light always
like little dancing elves
consigned to ceaseless movement in
the eternal solitude.

Life in their desert camp, set al-
most at the edge,of the Valley of
the Queens where those ages-old
beauties lay quietly sleeping, had
never been lonely for Starr. It was
a dream that blended in with her
own dreams, making her forget that
under the black velvet of the sky
she was looking out over one vast
cemetery. The night whispered to
her, spoke of the loves of those by-
gone people. One could think of love
out here in these great purply-pink
spaces and better understand how
one ancient love story had lured the
gentle old man who was her father
from across the sea, urging him to
give his all to prove his theory that
love had endured.

Day by day Starr watched the
work, the laborious digging, the
searching, the false moves. Only
the more dramatic incidents now
stood out in her mind and memory,
but never would she forget that day
when, the workmen haying bored
through to some opening and carted
away enough debris so that her
father could stumble through and
flash his small pocket torch, how pale
and trembling he had been when he
hhad come back, panting as he gasped
her arm.

“We'ye found it, Starr! Just a
few more loads and we'll be through!
A great granite sarcophagus is
there, untouched!” ~~

And to John Lessing:

“No doubt about it, John!

whilé
upon
each

I saw

the inscription! It’s there! Its
there! Tomorrow we can _ get
through!”

Their labors had been rewarded at
last. Their digging uncovered a hid-
den stairway leading to the outer
door of what was undoubtedly some
Pharaoh's Tomb.

Her father was scarcely able to
speak, in his excitement. He could
not sleep, and all the next day he
never left the vicinity of the digging.
Starr could not have told why it
was, but from the moment~ of her
father's discovery, instead of being
elated, a terrible fear, a black cloud,
had smothered down over her. No
longer did the desert look beautiful,
or benign. Her one thought was to
get away from it. Impossible, of
course, and she told herself she was
only being silly.

But as the long gay dragged

|

| meant nothing to her.

the feeling p There

with yell ‘green, and another yel-
low, one that was not gold, but
jaundiced, while from across the des-
ert came a moaning of wind that was
like a cry of a voice of fear. Or of
protest against some terrible fate to
come.

That protesting sunset was just
casting its last rays across desert
and valley, the deert wind was blow-
ing Starr's hair into a soft ebony
halo beneath her wide hat, when
Professor Ellison and John Lessing
stepped over the threshold and en-
tered the tomb which their workmen
had uncovered from where it had
lain for centuries. Starr's heart was
in her mouth as she followed them,
for her father laughed away her pro-
tests and her fears, insisted it was
for her the opportunity of a life-
time. Could she ever forget how he
had led the way into that tomb,
smiling in gentle triumph? *The last
time she was ever to see him smile?
“Back of them the sweat-grimed
workmen crowded away from the
tomb. Their work was done, but

they were still plainly uneasy, though}

there was not a word from any of
them. 4

There was no light in the place
save that which came from:the flick-
ering torches carried by Professor
Ellison and John Lessing. Their eerie
lights were awesome, as they played
over the rose stone sarcophagus
which plainly had not been touched
in centuries until the laborious work
of the archzologist’s workmen had
pried it from its place.

Starr felt choking as the light
went from spot to spot, over the
walls to pick out the beautiful paint-
ings. That smell of the grave was
overpowering, terrible. The silence,
too, was terrifying, coming so soon
after the clamor to which they had
become used.

Then the disc of her father’s light
came to rest at last upon a spot
high in the wall, over the sarcopha-
gus. It was ancient Egyptian sym-
bol writing and of course Starr could
not make it out, but her father did.
He cried out in excitement:

“The famous curse of Tut-Amen-
Ra! We've found it, Lessing! We,
too, are famous!”

A strange chill settled over Starr,
so that everything in that ghastly
place danced before her eyes in the
flickering torchlight—the curiously
shaped bowls, the hammered gold
and silver, strangely shaped bottles,
queer, tall ancient lamps. They
She could
think of but one thing, and all her
presentiments crowded up into her
throat to choke her more surely
than that terrible smell of the place
hidden for so many thousands of
years from the outside world. She
cried out sharply:

“Curse! What do you mean?”

He explained briefly. “It means,
my dear,” he said, but his voice was
oddly hushed, “that in thirty cen-
turies no living soul has passed those

doors. Those ancient words spell a
warning to the first who dares to
violate the sanctity of the tomb.

Don’t let it alarm you, Starr. That
same curse has been found many
times before. It’s superstition is
outworn.”

But was it superstition? Down in
her heart Starr could not make her-
self believe it. That curse was a
warning! A warning of death!

Starr glanced about her fearfully,
Overcome by the uncanny spell of
the place. The heat, too, as well as
the tomb-odor, was almost insup-
portable. Her head was reeling; she
felt as if she would swoon, but her
brain was beating out an insistent
warning. It was not of this place

alone that she was afraid. There
was the outside, too. They were
isolated from civilization, were

camped at the edge of nowhere, be-
side a vast cemetery of dead &nd
gone Egyptian royalties. She could
imagine anything happening here!

Her panic grew by leaps and
bounds as she cowered by the gaud-
ily painted rock tomb walls. *

“Daddy! I'm _ afraid! Afraid!
Let’s not go any farther! It’s a sacri-
lege—it must be! Suppose that curse
came true! Suppose we do bring
down on ourselves the vengeance of
their gods?”

But the two excited scholarly
men had no time to listen to the pro-
tests of a frightened girl. It seemed
hours to her, cowering in the back-
ground, looking grotesquely out of
place while they explored the tomb
before approaching the sarcophagus,
exclaiming over the stoppered flag-
ons, the curious jeweled cups, the

|

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pow, the golden! jewel-encrusted
perfume burners, a gilded couch,
carved in ancient design, the dozens
of things that would add to Profes-
sor Ellison's collection and his fame.
In the half-darkness, Starr looked
like something out of the past her-
self, as her face glowed luminously
white against her black hair, and
brought out the frightened mystery

of her long black eyes.

The rocky, painted walls were ooz-
ing with dampness. Never in her
life had Starr imagined anyone}
could feel so terribly shut in, trapped.
As she glanced through the open!
door, she noticed that the Egyptians
who had been in charge of the Arab
workmen had prostrated themselves
on their faces. She was not the only
one who was afraid.

Her father was tracing the heiro-
glyphics on the top of one of the
two inner lotus sarcophagi which
rested inside the big open granite
one.

“Tut-Amen-Ra!’ He moved his
hand across to the second one.. “Ama-
Sun! I knew it, Lessing! I knew

Ce

\ Journey's end! Starr felt “herself
infected with some of the explorers’
excitement, but it was a strange ex-
citement, pregnant with vague fore-
bodings.

The two men were “carefully lift-
ing out the ‘sarcophagus of Ama-
Sun, almost like the body of the an-
cient priestess herself in its startling
representation of the one who lay
inside it. Their shadows, gigantic,
grotesque, danced over the painted
walls. The only sound was of tear-
ing wood as they ripped it away
from the mummy inside.

It had been a ghastly enough
tableau at first, when they had all
merely stood still and looked, in the
blue-white light, like some awful
snapshot thrown on a poorly lighted
Screen, and with all their blue-white
faces strained. It was more terrible
now that the stereopticon had come
to life and become a moving picture,
as if the reading of that curse had
been the signal to start them all)
moying and the terrifying picture to
spring into action flitting in ghostly
silen¢ée through the shallow blue-
white light.

Starr clenched her
watching her father, whose gaunt
features were shining with sweat.)
Then through the blue-white mist,
Starr, watching breathlessly, fas- |
cinated, saw the figure of a woman)
lying in the sarcophagus, a woman
swathed in interminable lengths o:
wrappings which her father, with |
John Lessing’s aid, was unwinding—|
an unwinding that cold go on for-
ever, it seemed.

Suddenly she gave a gasp of awe
that followed a moment of what felt |
like suspended animation. Exposed/|
to her gaze was a marvelously pre-
served mummy—the mummy of a
woman who had lived and loved three
thousand years ago. A hint of her
tragic beauty still remained. But
even as Starr looked, a frightful
thing happened. Starr never could
understand how it had come about.
Surely her father and John Lessing,
versed as they were in Egyptology,
should have taken no such chances.
They should have known—

The mummy was crumbling! Go-
ing to nothing! “Dust to dust!”
The contact with air had done it. It
was the most terrifying thing Starr
had ever seen. For the moment she
Wetched, she felt that she, too, was
crumbling. That she was not real.
Nothing was!

In a few moments there was noth-
ing left but dust, and a parchment
Scroll Ama-Sun had held in her
hand. John Lessing reached for the
schroll.

Starr clapped both hands over her
eyes to shut out the sickening sight
of that dust woman. Her wild
scream echoed eerily through the
rocky chamber. After awhile she
became conscious that John Lessing
was saying something.

“It’s heiratic writing,” he was say-
ing, his voice choked, unnatural.
“But I can make it out. Shall I
read it?”

“Of course.” Her father’s voice
sounded sepulchral, too.

Then John Lessing was reading,
his voice sounding as if it also had
come from a three-thousand-year-old
tomb.

Long shivers took hold of Starr's
body, shaking her like a leaf. It was
a voice from the dead she was hear-

teeth hard,

ing, the terrible curse of Tut-Amen-
Ra. Here in the tomb, with the
knowledge of what they had done,
the ancient words, translated by the
archeologist, held a sinister sig-
nificance.

It seemed that John Lessing's
voice would drone on forever. Her
father was icily calm, but was forc-
ing himself to that pose, Starr was
sure. John Lessing’s face in the
blue light was ghastly—waxen. His
voice shook.

“To thy children, and thy chil-
dren's children, ill fortune; disaster;
death; inevitable death!”

When Starr dared-to uncover her
eyes, the Egyptians in charge of the
digging, who had prostrated them-
selves, had fled. Nor was there one
of the sweating Arabs in sight. She
and her father and John Lessing
were alone in the desecrated tomb.
Horror turned her to a thing of ice
as she saw the men’s faces. The
eagerness, the excitement, were
swept away.
Afraid of what they had done—
afraid of the curse!

This knowledge was all that Starr

| needed to destroy the last remnants

of her own composure. A strained,
heavy silence cloaked them. The

; place was alive with mocking spirits.

When John Lessing spoke his strick-
en voice sounded as if it came down
through the ages.

“Air!” he whispered hoarsely. “I’ve
got to get out of here—air! Im
through!”

With a superhuman effort Starr
forced the life back into her frozen
limbs. She fied, like a white ghost
herself, out into the desert night. Out
to where the unforgettable dusk of
Egypt, that once had fallen so
benignantly over the Libyan desert,
was already gone. For Starr it

; would never come again—that once

beloved dusk through which rocks

They were afraid!)

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showed like black dg and the

sky took on all the colors of the.
spectrum, through wonderful trans-

formations of sky blue to delicate
pink, then suddenly to turn into deep
violet. It’s beauty was gone for this
night—forever for Starr Ellison.

That night in their camp at the
edge of the desert, John Lessing fell
ill with a tropical fever. He died
twenty-four hours later. His last
words, in a high-pitched, delirious
voice were:

“It's the curse of Tut-Amen-Ra!
It's got me, Ellison! It'll get you,
too—and Starr!’

Her father was a broken man after,

the death of his friend, his life-long
companion. He did not explore any
further into the forbidden resting
place of the long-dead lovers, nor
did he touch any-of the treasures)
which he had gloated over. He never
again looked at them.

Camp was struck immediately and,

he and Starr returned to America

and the New England home where ,
he had planned that his book which}
was to have made him famous would!
| be written.

But the book was never
written. Never did he so much as
glance at any of the notes Starr had
so painstakingly taken. As, day by,
day, he visibly faded, it seemed in-
deed that the curse of Pharaoh was
reaching across the ocean. Every-
thing he did, everything they both
did, was attended by misfortune.

The climax came when, with the
first bank failures, Professor Ellison,
;never a business man, was caught,
and became bankrupt. Even his
Egyptian treasures brought him
little. Once he had thought he would]
never part with them, but now he
was eager to get them out of his
sight. With money at a premium,
however, they were worth little, far
less than he ever knew, when the
last went to pay for his days which
were swift in passing.

He realized he was going, though.
He said one day:

‘I’m a doomed man, Starr. It’s
the curse. There’s no escaping it.”

She pleaded with him, sheltering
his weary head in her arms.

‘Don't, Daddy! Dont! I'll never
believe it. . You must not!”

But she herself was beginning to
feel much of the same curious fatal-

ism which gripped her father, a sense
as of waiting for the inevitable to
happen.

(To Be Continued)

Gift For The King

“The King’s House” Presented By
Body Of Trades People

King Edward has formally receiy-
ed “The King’s House’—the house
built by the Royal Warrantholders’
Association, the body of trades peo-
ple who supply the royal household.

This gift was intended originally
as a jubilee present for King George.
| It stands in its own grounds at Bur-
\ hill overlooking the Surrey hills, with!
ie distant vista of Sussex. It cost)
| $250,000.

In the study, panelled with Cana-
| dian silkwood, the king made the
j first signature in the visitors’ book
and was presented with an album
containing the names of the 1,000
members of the Royal Warranhold-
| ers’ Association.
interesting feature in the
study is a hidden cocktail cabinet in
‘the wall. Every room in the house
has an electric clock and nearly
every room its own loud speaker hid-
den in the wall.

| One

Wanted Service

I like the story of what the thrifty
man expected for his money. With
his two boys he entered a fashion-
able restaurant and ordered a bottle
of lemonade and three glasses. They
were served, and father and sons sat
around. The waiters were interested.
Presently their chief walked that
way.

“Are you the manager?” inquired
the father.

“Yes, sir, I am.”

“Then,” demanded the man, “why
is it that the orchestra is not Bey
ing?”

Little Helps For This Week

In Him we live, and move and
have our being. Acts 17:28.

Yea in Thy life our little lives

are ended,

Into Thy depths our trembling.

spirits fall;

In Thee er.folded, gathered, com-

prehended,

As holds the sea her waves,

Thou holdest all.

Where then. is our God? You say
He is everywhere; then show me any-
where that you have met Him. You
declare Him everlasting; then tell
me any moment He has been with

you. You believe Him ready to help

| those who are tempted and to lift
those that are bowed down, then tell
| me when you knew you received
His help. These are the testing ques-
tions by which we may learn whether
we too have raised our altar to an
“unknown God” and pay the worship
of the blind, or whether we com-
mune with Him “in whom we live,
and move, and have our being.’’—J.
Martineau.

A Real Cosmopolitan

“Pat,” says Mike to his workmate,
“what's a cosmopolitan?”

Pat thought for a moment, then
said, “Suppose there was a Russian
Jew living in England with an Italian
wife, sitting at a French window in
a room with a Turkey carpet on the
floor. If this man drank American
cream soda while listening to a Ger-
man band playing ‘Come back to
Erin’ after supper of Dutch cheese
made up as a Welsh rarebit, then
begorra, you're safe in calling that
guy a cosmopolitan!”

The new library at Cambridge,
Eng., contains 1,250,000 books in 23
miles of shelves. The shelves are so
arranged that every book is within

The real Father of Democracy is
@ person you probably never heard
of a man named Ulfjotr. Anyway, !
he created the world’s first parlia-|
ment, the Althing of Iceland back in
930 A.D.

California oranges now reach!
Alaska five days after picking |

arm's reach of a man of average
height.

Some men are shaved a little
cleaner, bathed a little cleaner and
dressed a little cleaner and their
mind’s a little keener, but when all
is said and done, we are all headed
for the last round-up. 2163

YW cs!
ZEEE

SIMPLE DIRECTIONS

Warehouses at Calgary, Edmonton, Regina

ON THE PACKAGE

ca

\_ Zz z
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and Winnipeg