“Sit here,” said his wife as she put out the light. “Sit here by the hearth and watch the gold growing. The silver moonlight is jealous! See, it steals along the floor towards the gold—our gold!” Geoffrey looked with growing horror, and saw that during the hours that had passed the golden hair had protruded further through the broken hearth-stone. He tried to hide it by placing his feet over the broken place; and his wife, drawing her chair beside him, leant over and laid her head on his shoulder.
“Now do not stir, dear,” she said; “let 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.”