A MYSTERY


Twilight dropped its soft, somber curtain upon a handsome southern
home. Sadly out of keeping with the peaceful landscape and cheerful
hearthstone, were the feelings of a man who crept close to the window
shutter, and peered cautiously within the cosy apartment. And brighter
grew the twinkle in his rapacious eyes as the brilliant objects upon
which he glared shone in the lamplight.

Upon a table in the center of the room was a mosaic casket, the raised
lid disclosing a collection of jewels rarely to be found in the
possession of a single individual.

With glowing cheeks and radiant eyes Netta Lee surveyed her treasures;
but the glow and sparkle were for the tall figure beside her, however
her feminine pride might be gratified at this splendid array. So long as
Richard Temple honored her among women with his heart's devotion, there
needed not the glitter of gems to complete her happiness.

"Our friends are most kind with their wedding gifts," said the
prospective bridegroom, "these are royal!--"

"Yes, and oh, Richard! just see these pearls. Exquisite, aren't they!
One hundred years old, and a present from my grandmother."

"What a queer, old-fashioned case," said Mary, a younger sister taking
up the flat, square box of red morocco, where nestled in its white satin
lining lay the milky brooch and ear-rings.