Burton--why, this
is wonderful! Where did you get these sheets, do you say? Are you
honestly telling me that they were written within the last thousand
years?"
"Without a doubt," Burton replied. "They were written in London, a few
months ago."
Mr. Cowper was already busy surrounding himself with strange-looking
volumes. His face displayed the utmost enthusiasm in his task.
"It is most amazing, this," he declared, drawing a chair up to the
table. "These sheets are written in a language which has been dead as a
medium of actual intercourse for over two thousand years. You meet with
it sometimes in old Egyptian manuscripts. There was a monastery
somewhere near the excavations which I had the honor to conduct in
Syria, where an ancient prayer-book contained several prayers in this
language. Literally I cannot translate this for you; actually I will.
I can get at the sense--I can get at the sense quite well. But if one
could only find the man who wrote it! He is the man I should like to
see, Mr. Burton. If the pages were written so recently, where is the
writer?"
"He is dead," Burton replied.
Mr. Cowper sighed.
"Well, well," he continued, starting upon his task with avidity, "we
will talk about him presently.
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