nd went into a back parlour.
Dyson heard his trembling fingers fumbling with a bunch of keys, and
the creak of an opening box. He came back presently with a small
package neatly tied up in brown paper in his hands, and, still full of
terror, handed it to Dyson.

"I'm glad to be rid of it," he said. "I'll take no more jobs of this
sort."

Dyson took the parcel and his stick, and walked out of the shop with a
nod, turning round as he passed the door. Travers had sunk into his
seat, his face still white with terror, with one hand over his eyes,
and Dyson speculated a good deal as he walked rapidly away as to what
queer chords those could be on which he had played so roughly. He
hailed the first hansom he could see, and drove home, and when he had
lit his hanging lamp, and laid his parcel on the table, he paused for a
moment, wondering on what strange thing the lamplight would soon shine.
He locked his door, and cut the strings, and unfolded the paper layer
after layer, and came at last to a small wooden box, simply but solidly
made. There was no lock, and Dyson had simply to raise the lid, and as
he did so he drew a long breath and started back. The lamp seemed to
glimmer feebly like a single candle, but the whole room blazed with
light--and not with light alone but with a thousand colours, with all
the glories of some painted window; and upon the walls of his room and
on the familiar furniture, the glow flamed back and seemed to flow
again to its source, the little wooden box. For there upon a bed of
soft wool lay the most splendid jewel,--a jewel such as Dyson had never
dreamed of, and within it shone the blue of far skies, and the green of
the sea by the shore, and the red of the ruby, and deep violet rays,
and in the middle of all it seemed aflame as if a fountain of fire rose
up, and fell, and rose again with sparks like stars for drops. Dyson
gave a long deep sigh, and dropped into his chair, and put his hands
over his eyes to think. The jewel was like an opal, but from a long
experience of the shop windows he knew there was no such thing as an
opal one quarter or one eighth of its size. He looked at the stone
again, with a feeling that was almost awe, and placed it gently on the
table under the lamp, and watched the wonderful flame that shone and
sparkled in its centre, and then turned to the box, curious to know
whether it might contain other marvels. He lifted the bed of wool on
which the opal had reclined, and