ad been
listening to all they said in a state of dreamy surprise. He did not
wish to look at the stone, and the moment he saw it he perceived it was
what he had seen before. It was not exactly the same shade of purple,
but it appeared to him that he had seen it before by daylight, and now
the lamps were lit. It was the same shape and size, and the tiny
interior star was the same. He moved his head from side to side to see
if the ray moved to meet his eye, and he found that it did so. He looked
at Violetta. How beautiful she was in her white gown, with her little
hand uplifted to display the shining stone, and her face upturned to
his! The soft warm curve of the delicate breast and throat, the red lips
that seemed to breathe pure kisses and holy words, the tender eyes
shining like the jewel, dewy with the sacred tears she had been
shedding, and the yellow hair, smooth, glossy, brushed saintly-wise on
either side of the nunlike brow--all this he looked at, and his senses
grew confused. The sad rise and fall of the Hebrew chant was in his ears
again; the bright room and the people were not there, but the chant
seemed in some strange way to rise up in folds of darkness and surround
Violetta like a frame; and everything else was dark and filled with the
music, except Violetta, who stood there white and shining, holding up
the ring for him to look at; and at her feet lay that other woman, wet
and dead, with the same stone in the steel chain at her throat. 'Isn't
it lovely? Isn't mamma very kind?' Violetta was saying.

'My dear, I think he is ill,' said the vicar.

They took him by the arm, putting him on a chair, and fetched water and
a glass of wine. He heard them talking together.

'I daresay it has been too much for him,' said the dean. 'Joy is often
as hard to bear as grief.'

'He is such a fellow for work,' said the vicar, 'I never knew any one
like him.'

The curate sat up quite straight. 'Did any of you ever see an amethyst
like this set in steel?'

'In steel? What an odd idea!' said the maiden aunt.

'He is not quite himself yet,' said the dean in a low voice, tapping her
on the shoulder.

'I think it would be very inappropriate, indeed very wrong, to set a
valuable stone in any of the baser metals,' said Mrs. Moore. She spoke
as if the idea were a personal affront to herself, but then she had an
immense notion of her own importance, and always looked upon all
wrong-doing as a personal grievance.

'Whateve