t before
another storm came.

There had been a distinct coolness between Tryon Dunham and his mother
and sister ever since the morning when the loss of the hat and rain-coat
was announced. Or did it date from the evening of that day when both
mother and sister had noticed the beautiful ring which he wore? They had
exclaimed over the flash of the diamond, and its peculiar pureness and
brilliancy, and Cornelia had been quite disagreeable when he refused to
take it off for her to examine. He had replied to his mother's question by
saying that the ring belonged to a friend of his. He knew his mother was
hurt by the answer, but what more could he do at present? True, he might
have taken the ring off and prevented further comment, but it had come to
him to mean loyalty to and belief in the girl whom he had so strangely
been permitted to help. It was therefore in deep perplexity that he betook
himself to his club and sat down in a far corner to meditate. He was
annoyed when the office-boy appeared to tell him, there were some packages
awaiting him in the office. "Bring them to me here, Henry."

The boy hustled away, and soon came back, bearing two hat-boxes--one of
them in a crate--and the heavy leather suit-case.

With a start of surprise, Dunham sat up in his comfortable chair.

"Say, Henry, those things ought not to come in here." He glanced anxiously
about, and was relieved to find that there was only one old gentleman in
the room, and that he was asleep. "Suppose we go up to a private room with
them. Take them out to the elevator, and I'll come in a moment."

"All right, sah."

"And say, Henry, suppose you remove that crate from the box. Then it won't
be so heavy to carry."

"All right, sah. I'll be thah in jest a minute."

The young man hurried out to the elevator, and he and Henry made a quick
ascent to a private room. He gave the boy a round fee, and was left in
quiet to examine his property.

As he fumbled with the strings of the first box his heart beat wildly, and
he felt the blood mounting to his face. Was he about to solve the mystery
which had surrounded the girl in whom his interest had now grown so deep
that he could scarcely get her out of his mind for a few minutes at a
time?

But the box was empty, save for some crumpled white tissue-paper. He took
up the cover in perplexity and saw his own name written by himself. Then
he remembered. This was the box he had sent down to the club by the
cabman, t