"Hold your tongue!" said Henry with an angry hiss like that of a serpent. Usually the young man wore a mild and gentle expression, but on this night his face was haggard and his eyes were wild. He had all his wits about him, however, and forced his wife into a chair, where she sat trembling violently. "I've had enough of these ghostly pranks," he said in a fierce undertone, "and as Granny undoubtedly possesses clairvoyant powers, I wish her to learn all she can. Come in, Mrs. Tunks!" he added, raising his voice, and the old witch-wife entered the room, looking singularly weird in her white cloak. "Is that the only reason that you have asked Granny here?" demanded Mrs. Vand, in a low voice. "Sarah told me that her grandson had been raving." "You fool!" snarled the cripple. "Will you hold your tongue? I have another purpose, which you will find out shortly. Granny," he pointed to a chair, "sit down and tell us what influences are about." Mrs. Tunks sat in the indicated chair, and lay back with closed eyes. Vand and his wife remained perfectly still, the latter gazing at the old witch in a terrified manner, as though dreading what she would say and do. The room was filled with shadows, even though three lamps were lighted, and the silence became quite oppressive. Mrs. Vand was a healthy animal, and not in the least imaginative, but after a time she felt that some evil influence was in the room, and tightly gripped her husband's hand. The perspiration broke out on her forehead. Henry gave her no comfort, not even by pressing her hand. His eyes were fixed on the perfectly expressionless and still face of Granny Tunks. The seance had all the elements of terror about it. The gipsy lay as still as though carved out of stone, and the watchers could scarcely see the rise and fall of her breath. Deeper and deeper grew the stillness, so that even the fall of a pin could have been heard, had one been dropped. Apparently the body of Granny lay supine in the chair, but her spirit was far away--roaming the house, maybe. After a long pause, the woman began to speak in a low, expressionless voice, and almost without moving her withered lips. "Gems," she said softly, "rare gems, blue and red and green; jewels of price and pearls of the ocean. They are in an ivory box. Long ago the woman who is standing near me"--Mrs. Vand started, looked, but could see nothing, yet the monotonous voice went on, as though the speaker really saw the form described--"wore those jewels. She has the face of a Roman empress. In Africa, many centuries ago--yes, in Africa, and she sinned to get those jewels. Now she laments that she has lost them." "How did she lose them?" asked Vand almost in a whisper, as though fearful of breaking the charm. Apparently--as Mrs. Vand guessed--this was not the first time he had assisted at so weird a ceremony.