t 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 dre