Miss Wragge was kneeling at the feet of the mummy when this happened. We three men all had our eyes riveted on what followed. Only the reader who by some remote chance may have witnessed a line of mummies, freshly laid from their tombs upon the sand, slowly stir and bend as the heat of the Egyptian sun warms their ancient bodies into the semblance of life, can form any conception of the ultimate horror we experienced when the silent figure before us moved in its grave of lead and sand. Slowly, before our eyes, it writhed, and, with a faint rustling of the immemorial cerements, rose up, and, through sightless and bandaged eyes, stared across the yellow candlelight at the woman who had violated it.

I tried to move⁠—her brother tried to move⁠—but the sand seemed to hold our feet. I tried to cry⁠—her brother tried to cry⁠—but the sand seemed to fill our lungs and throat. We could only stare⁠—and, even so, the sand seemed to rise like a desert storm and cloud our vision⁠ ⁠…