"Yes; he tried to worm out of me who my cousin was, and he walked up here on purpose to find out where you lived." "How lucky there is no name on the door!" exclaimed the cousin. "But he heard me ask for your husband's house,--did he not, Miss Vila? And why on earth you should make such a mystery of it all I can't see." "Do draw the shade, Julia. It makes me nervous. I feel as if he were looking in now." "Nonsense, Lillie! he's a gentleman." "But why do you make such a mystery of it all?" persisted the young man. "There is no mystery," said Miss Vila stiffly. And, gathering up her work, she went up-stairs. "It's only play mystery, Henry," said his cousin, when they were alone. "You see, Lillie Vila has been coming out in the horse-car with him every night for a long time; and she has seen him watching her. Of course she has seen him, but he has not seen that she has seen him. Men are so stupid. And she knows that he has tried in vain to find out who she is. He saw her once go into the library. She was dreadfully afraid he would come in and see her working behind the screen; but he evidently fancied she went in to get a book. Then he is always managing to stand or sit near her, and he peeks at her book when she is reading. He is just dying, I know, to find out who she is." V. THE REAL MYSTERY. Mr. Austin Buckingham found on his table, when he returned from his walk with Henry Wilding, a scrap of paper. It had nothing on it but the words "The Mystery." This was the heading which he had made for his story. He had been interrupted by his caller just as he had written the words. He had not the remotest notion when he set them down what the mystery was which he meant to reveal. The title now seemed like a prophecy to him. Instead, however, of jotting down an outline of his story, he took out his note-book and wrote busily: