‘And now, Henry,’ said he, ’I am going to show you something that no one else has ever seen since she died—­the most sacred possession I have upon this earth.’  He then opened his shirt and his vest, and showed me lying upon his naked bosom a beautiful jewelled cross of a considerable size.  ‘This,’ said he, lifting it up, ’is an ancient Gnostic amulet.  It is called the “Moonlight Cross” of the Gnostics.  I gave it to her on the night of our betrothal.  She was a Roman Catholic.  It is made of precious stones cut in facets, with rubies and diamonds and beryls so cunningly set that, when the moonlight falls on them, the cross flashes almost as brilliantly as when the sunlight falls on them and is kindled into living fire.  These deep-coloured crimson rubies—­almost as clear as diamonds—­are not of the ordinary kind.  They are true “Oriental rubies,” and the jewellers would tell you that the mine which produced them has been lost during several centuries.  But look here when I lift it up; the most wonderful feature of the jewel is the skill with which the diamonds are cut.  The only shapes generally known are what are called the “brilliant” and the “rose,” but here the facets are arranged in an entirely different way, and evidently with the view of throwing light into the very hearts of the rubies, and producing this peculiar radiance.’

He lifted the amulet again (which was suspended from his neck by a beautifully worked cord made of soft brown hair) into the rays from the moon.  The light the jewel emitted was certainly of a strange and fascinating kind.  The cross had been worn with the jewelled front upon his bosom instead of the smooth back, and the sharp facets of the cross had lacerated the scarred flesh underneath in a most cruel manner.  He saw me shudder and understood why.

‘Oh, I like that!’ he said, with an ecstatic smile.  ’I like to feel it constantly on my bosom.  It cannot cut deep enough for me.  This is her hair,’ he said, taking the hair-cord between his fingers and kissing it.

‘How do you manage to exist, father,’ I said, ’with that heavy sharp-edged jewel on your breast? you who cannot bear the gout with patience?’

’Exist?  I could not exist without it.  The gout is pain—­this is not pain; it is joy, bliss, heaven!  When I am dead it must lie for ever on my breast as it lies now, or I shall never rest in my grave.’  He had been talking about amulets in the most quiet and matter-of-fact way during that morning; but the I moment he produced this cross a strange change came over his face, something like the change that will come over a dull wood-fire when blown by the wind into a bright light of flame.