‘Ah, Henry!’ he replied, ’I was like you once.  I could once be content with Materialism—­I could find it supportable once; but, should you ever come to love as I have loved (and, for your own happiness, child, I hope you never may), you will And that Materialism is intolerable, is hell itself, to the heart that has known a passion like mine.  You will And that it is madness, Hal, madness, to believe in the word “never”! you will And that you dare not leave untried any creed, howsoever wild, that offers the heart a ray of hope.  Every object she cherished has become spiritualised, sublimated, has become alive—­alive as this amulet is alive.  See, the lights are no natural lights.’  And again he held it up.

‘If on my death-bed,’ he continued, ’I thought that this beloved cross and these sacred relics would ever get into other hands—­would ever touch other flesh—­than mine, I should die a maniac, Hal, and my spirit would never be released from the chains of earth.’  It was the superstitious tone of his talk that irritated and hardened me.  He saw it, and a piteous expression overspread his features.

‘Don’t desert your poor father,’ he said.  ’What I want is the word of an Aylwin that those beloved relics shall be buried with me.  If I had that, I should be content to live, and content to die.  Oh, Hal!’

He threw such an imploring gaze into my face as he said ‘Oh, Hal!’ that, reluctant as I was to be mixed up with superstition, I promised to execute his wishes; I promised also to keep the secret from all the world during his life, and after his death to share it with those two only from whom, for family reasons, it could not be kept—­my uncle Aylwin of Alvanley and my mother.  He then put away the amulet, and his face resumed the look of placid content it usually wore.  He was feeling the facets of the mysterious ‘Moonlight Cross’!

The most marvellous thing is this, however:  his old relations towards me were at once resumed.  He never alluded to the subject of his first wife again, and I soon found it difficult to believe that the conversation just recorded ever took place at all.  Evidently his monomania only rose up to a passionate expression when fanned into sudden flame by talking about the cross.  It was as though the shock of his first wife’s death had severed his consciousness and his life in twain.

II

Naturally this visit to Switzerland cemented our intimacy, and it was on our return home that he suggested my accompanying him on one of his ‘rubbing expeditions.’

‘Henry,’ he said, ’your mother has of late frequently discussed with me the question of your future calling in life.  She suggests a Parliamentary career.  I confess that I find questions about careers exceedingly disturbing.’

‘There is only one profession I should like, father,’ I said, ’and that is a painter’s.’  In fact, the passion for painting had come on me very strongly of late.  My dreams had from the first been of wandering with Winnie in a paradise of colour, and these dreams had of late been more frequent:  the paradise of colour had been growing richer and rarer.