The doors on each side of the small hall were all open, and the place was bare and forlorn in the extreme, and in strange and gloomy contrast with that luxurious little nest near the old mill at home, that had been Annie Dale’s former home. He went around the house, peeping in at each window; but there was nothing to be seen save bare floors, and walls from which the rich paper, that had once adorned them, was falling away, while every nook and corner was infested with dust and cobwebs. He came back again, after a time, to the front porch, where he sat down upon one of the steps, wondering where he should turn next to pick up the thread which seemed to have suddenly broken and vanished from sight again here. He sat there a long time pondering the mystery—who was the man who had called himself William Dale?—whither had he gone after leaving that place, and which way should he—Everet Mapleson—turn now to hunt him down? But he could arrive at no definite conclusion; there was only one thing that he could think of to do to satisfy himself regarding the truth of a suspicion that haunted him continually, and that he shrank from with a feeling that was akin to horror; while it might result in nothing save making a fool of himself and becoming an object of ridicule and scorn. He arose at last, with a sigh of weariness and discouragement to return to the public house where he was staying and to seek his new friend, Bob Whittaker. But, owing to the cramped position in which he had been sitting, one of his feet had “gone to sleep,” and he found he could not walk a step. He stamped vigorously, and impatiently, too, for the intense prickling sensation with which circulation began to reassert itself irritated him, when, without the slightest warning, the step on which he was standing gave way and he was unceremoniously precipitated into the rank grass and among the brambles which grew all about it. He picked himself up, after giving vent to a somewhat unrefined expression of annoyance, rescued his hat, which had lodged in a prickly cactus nearby, and then turned to see how much damage he had done. The step was a complete wreck, the top board being split entirely across, while the rotten supports beneath were wholly demolished, and lay in a crumbled heap on the ground. He gave the mass a kick with his foot, scattering it right and left, when suddenly a gleam of light from something among it, flashed into his eye. He stooped to see what had caused it, when, to his intense surprise, he found a small ring, the gold all blackened and tarnished, but with a beautiful diamond, clear and brilliant as a drop of dew in the sunlight, set in its delicate crown. “Well, I imagine I have found a treasure now,” Everet exclaimed, eagerly, as he turned it over and over to examine it more closely. He saw that there was some inscription upon its inner surface, but it was so blackened with age and so filled with dirt that he could not make it out.