"You see there is rather a sameness in these things," said Lady Mabel; "and you can understand why I am not rabidly curious about the contents of these parcels. I feel sure there will be another 'Mizpah' among them." She had received Lord Mallow's tribute, an Irish jaunting-car, built upon the newest lines, and altogether a most perfect vehicle for driving to a meet in, so light and perfectly balanced as to travel safely through the ruttiest glade in Mark Ash. Rorie's gifts had all been given, so Lady Mabel could afford to make light of the unopened parcels without fear of wounding the feelings of anyone present. They were opened by-and-by, when the Duke came in from his farm, sorely disturbed in his mind at the serious indisposition of a six-hundred-guinea cart-horse, which hapless prize animal had been fatted to such an inflammatory condition that in his case the commonest ailment might prove deadly. Depressed by this calamity, the Duke required to be propped up with sherry and Angustura bitters, which tonic mixture was presently brought to him by one of the match footmen, who looked very much as if he were suffering from the same plethoric state that was likely to prove fatal to the cart-horse. Happily, the footman's death would be but a temporary inconvenience. The Duke had not given six hundred guineas for him. Lady Mabel opened her parcels, in the hope of distracting her father from the contemplation of his trouble. "From whom can this be?" she asked wonderingly, "with the Jersey post-mark? Do I know anyone in Jersey?" Roderick grew suddenly crimson, and became deeply absorbed in the business of peeling a nectarine. "I surely cannot know anyone in Jersey," said Lady Mabel, in languid wonderment. "It is an altogether impossible place. Nobody in society goes there. It sounds almost as disreputable as Boulogne." "You'd better open the packet," said Rorie, with a quiver in his voice. "Perhaps it is from some of your friends," speculated Mabel. She broke the seal, and tore the cover off a small morocco case. "What a lovely pair of earrings!" she exclaimed. Each eardrop was a single turquoise, almost as large, and quite as clear in colour, as a hedge-sparrow's egg. The setting was Roman, exquisitely artistic. "Now I can forgive anyone for sending me such jewellery as that," said Lady Mabel. "It is not the sort of thing one sees in every jeweller's shop." Rorie looked at the blue stones with rueful eyes. He knew them well. He had seen them contrasted with ruddy chestnut hair, and the whitest skin in Christendom--or at any rate the whitest he had ever seen, and a man's world can be but the world he knows. "There is a letter," said Lady Mabel. "Now I shall find out all about my mysterious Jersey friend." She read the letter aloud. "Les Tourelles, Jersey, July 25th.