Peter opened his parcel.

It contained an eye made of glass and very exquisitely fashioned to imitate reality.  Its prevailing darkness had prevented the truth from appearing, and yet, perfect though it was in lustre and pigment, the false thing had given to Pendean’s expression a quality that never failed to disturb Peter.  It was not sinister, yet he remembered no such cast of countenance within his experience.

Mr. Ganns turned over the little object that had so often met his inquiring gaze.

“A rare crook,” he said aloud; “but he is right:  his wife was greater than either of us.  If he’d listened to her and not his own vainglory, both could be alive and flourishing yet.”

The dark brown eye seemed to stare up at him with a human twinkle as he brought out his gold snuffbox and took a pinch.