“You are right,” replied the old lady; “and it is a matter that has never been cleared up to this day, and is never likely to be, according to my way of thinking. He died very suddenly, and that may perhaps account for it, for I believe the old miser hid his money, and it has been rusting itself away all these years and doing nobody any good. He gave quite a sum to some charitable association, I’ve been told; but that could not have been a tithe of his possessions, for, the way he lived, his income must have accumulated very rapidly.” Everet Mapleson looked interested at this view of the mystery. He had never thought of such an explanation. “I say it is a shame!” the old lady continued, excitedly, “that his brother’s widow and child could not have had the benefit of some of his money. Charity begins at home, and he had no business to give even a blind asylum his thousands and hide away the rest, while they were toiling early and late for the bare necessities of life.” Everet thought of the richly and daintily furnished rooms that he had visited only the previous day, and came to the conclusion that perhaps Miss Southern did not know just how they had lived. “Did they own the cottage where they resided?” he asked. “Bless you, no! Old Jabez Mapleson owned that; didn’t you know it? And it fell to your father, with the rest of the estate, after he died.” The young man started at this information. He had never known just the extent of his father’s estate. He had been at the North in different schools during the last eight years, and previous to that he never had felt interested enough in the property to ask any information about the boundaries of Vue de l’Eau. Colonel Mapleson, in speaking of the Dales, had said they lived not far from that place; but now it appeared that his estate included the little vine-clad cottage, the old mill, and other buildings in that vicinity. Did the furniture of that little house also belong to him, or had he simply let it remain there after the mysterious disappearance of Annie Dale, thinking, perhaps that some time she might return to the home she had so strangely left? Or had the writer of that letter, a portion of which he had found, had something to do with the rich garnishings of that cozy home? The mystery seemed to be thickening, rather than being explained. “I have been at home so little that I have had no opportunity to learn much about the estate,” Everet remarked, in reply to Miss Southern’s look of astonishment. “But do you know how old this girl was when her mother died?” “Annie was in her eighteenth year. Poor child! She seemed to be entirely alone in the world then, and came here, to Richmond, to try to earn her living. She made me a call, while looking about for a situation, and I pitied her from the bottom of my heart,” said the old lady, with a sigh. “Where did she make her home while searching for a place?” Everet inquired.