He placed it on the table under the chandelier, where all could see. It was of iron, rusty with age; in dimension, about a foot square; and fastened by a hasp, with the bar of the lock thrust through but not secured.
“Light the gas, Colin!—every burner,” he said. “We’ll have the full effulgence, if you please.”...
For a little time, the lid resisted. Suddenly, it yielded.
“Behold!” he heralded, and flung it back.
The scintillations which leaped out to meet them, were like the rays from myriads of gleaming, glistening, varicolored lights, of dazzling brightness and infinite depth. A wonderful cavern of coruscating splendor—rubies and diamonds, emeralds and sapphires, pearls and opals glowing with all the fire of self, and the resentment of long neglect.
“Heaven! What beauty!” exclaimed Davila.
It broke the spell.
“They are real!” Croyden laughed. “You may touch them—they will not fade.”
They put them out on the table—in little heaps of color. The women exclaiming whene’er they touched them, cooingly as a woman does when handling jewels—fondling them, caressing them, loving them. 336
At last, the box was empty. They stood back and gazed—fascinated by it all:—the color—the glowing reds and whites, and greens and blues.