et us sit still and watch. We
shall find the secret of the growing gold!' He passed his arm round
her and sat silent; and as the moonlight stole along the floor she
sank to sleep.

He feared to wake her; and so sat silent and miserable as the hours
stole away.

Before his horror-struck eyes the golden-hair from the broken stone
grew and grew; and as it increased, so his heart got colder and
colder, till at last he had not power to stir, and sat with eyes full
of terror watching his doom.

* * * * *

In the morning when the London doctor came, neither Geoffrey nor his
wife could be found. Search was made in all the rooms, but without
avail. As a last resource the great door of the old hall was broken
open, and those who entered saw a grim and sorry sight.

There by the deserted hearth Geoffrey Brent and his young wife sat
cold and white and dead. Her face was peaceful, and her eyes were
closed in sleep; but his face was a sight that made all who saw it
shudder, for there was on it a look of unutterable horror. The eyes
were open and stared glassily at his feet, which were twined with
tresses of golden hair, streaked with grey, which came through the
broken hearth-stone.

The Gipsy Prophecy

'I really think,' said the Doctor, 'that, at any rate, one of us
should go and try whether or not the thing is an imposture.'

'Good!' said Considine. 'After dinner we will take our cigars and
stroll over to the camp.'

Accordingly, when the dinner was over, and the _La Tour_ finished,
Joshua Considine and his friend, Dr Burleigh, went over to the east
side of the moor, where the gipsy encampment lay. As they were
leaving, Mary Considine, who had walked as far as the end of the
garden where it opened into the laneway, called after her husband:

'Mind, Joshua, you are to give them a fair chance, but don't give them
any clue to a fortune--and don't you get flirting with any of the
gipsy maidens--and take care to keep Gerald out of harm.'

For answer Considine held up his hand, as if taking a stage oath, and
whistled the air of the old song, 'The Gipsy Countess.' Gerald joined
in the strain, and then, breaking into merry laughter, the two men
passed along the laneway to the common, turning now and then to wave
their hands to Mary, who leaned over the gate, in the twilight,
looking after them.

It was a lovely evening in the summer; the very air was full of rest
and quiet happiness,