r made you think of it?' asked Violetta.

'I daresay it was rather absurd,' said the curate meekly.

'By no means,' said the barrister; 'the idea of making jewellery
exclusively of gold is modern and crude. In earlier times many beautiful
articles of personal ornamentation were made of brass and even of iron.'

'Mamma,' said Violetta, 'I remember one day seeing a curious old thing
in the bottom of your dressing-case. It looked as if it might be made of
steel. It was a very curious old thing--chain, and a pendant with some
inscription round it.'

'Did you?' said Mrs. Moore. 'I have several old trinkets. I do not know
to which you refer.'

She bade Violetta ring for tea. 'I am sure you will be the better for a
cup of tea,' she said, turning to the curate.

'I am quite well,' he replied. 'I think, if you will excuse me, I will
walk home at once; the air will do me good.'

But they would not hear of his walking home. They made him drink tea and
sit out the evening with them. Violetta gave them some more music; and
they all made themselves exceedingly agreeable. When the evening was
over they sent the curate home in the carriage.

CHAPTER III

The night was frosty, calm, and clear, and quite light, for the March
moon was just about to rise from the eastern sea.

When the carriage set him down at his own door the curate had no mind to
go in. He waited till the sound of the horse's feet had died away, and
then he walked back down the empty street. The town was asleep; his
footsteps echoed sharply from roofs and walls.

He was not given to morbid fancies or hallucinations, and he was
extremely annoyed at what had taken place. Twice in the last eight days
he had been the subject of a waking dream, and now he was confronted
with what seemed an odd counterpart of his vision in actual fact. It was
no doubt a mere coincidence, but it was a very disagreeable one. Of
course if he saw the old trinket described by Violetta, the chances were
that it would be quite different from the setting of the stone which the
dead woman wore; but even if the two were exactly the same, what
difference could it make? A dream is nothing, and that which appears in
a dream is nothing. The coincidence had no meaning.

He turned by the side of the church down the lane which led to the
little quay. The tide was halfway up the dark weed, and the
fishing-boats were drawn near to the quay, ready for the cruise at dawn;
their dark furled sa