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.

'Ha!' he muttered to himself, as his eyes widened and sparkled with a
look of intense eagerness and his hand shook, sending the light of
the beautiful jewel all about the room, 'it is a sad pity he was not