letters
that Mrs. Stone had received from her from time to time, and they
corresponded with the endorsements on the order.

The case was now becoming interesting, and, at Stone's request, I
consented to call at his residence the next afternoon to talk with Mrs.
Stone about Miss Mason.

Richard Stone was a young man of probably thirty-two, and an
Englishman. His dress and appearance were faultless, while his
conversation indicated that he was well educated. He had been in this
country scarcely fifteen months, yet he was holding a confidential
position in one of the largest corporations in the city, where he was
held in the highest esteem, and where he was complimented alike for his
rare abilities and gentlemanly deportment. Indeed, every person
interested was delighted with him, and they had all often wondered at
their good fortune in securing the services of such a preeminently
competent man.

Mrs. Stone was somewhat younger than her husband, and was of fair size
and fine form. "Her brow was like the snowdrift; her voice was low and
sweet," and nature had also generously endowed her with an abundance of
the most beautiful red hair that ever gladdened the heart of man with
its warm and genial rays. She was an American, and had been married to
Mr. Stone only a few months.

Mr. and Mrs. Stone were both at home when I called. I was as warmly
greeted as though I had been a welcome messenger of peace from a mortal
enemy. Mrs. Stone had hardly recovered from a terrible scare she had
received the previous evening, and the household affairs had scarcely
resumed their wonted cheerfulness and repose.

"Was it a burglar?" "No, worse than burglars!" And having never
learned that anything brought more terror to womankind than the soft
step of the artful burglar, I listened with bated breath to the
interesting story of the husband.

It was his custom to arrive home each afternoon about six o'clock,
where the bright smiles of Mrs. Stone had never, till yesterday, failed
to bathe him in the warm and tender adorations of perennial affection.
Last evening when he entered at the usual hour the house was still and
dark, and the bright face of his loved one greeted him not.

A strange man approached him, in as great surprise us if the dead had
come to life, and bade him be calm and composed, and said he thought
Mrs. Stone would soon recover consciousness; that somebody had sent her
word that her husband had been killed, an