Robbed of her precious jewels!

No wonder Rose Alstine was dismayed.

How had the robber gained entrance to her room?

An examination of the windows, in fact all openings to the house, proved them intact, and yet the fact remained that the robbery had been committed.

Miss Alstine sent word to the chief of police, who came at once, looked over the premises, and promised to use every effort to discover the burglar.

Rose never once thought of her lover in connection with such a crime.

It was Miss Williamson who first called her attention to her visitor.

"There's no telling what men will do, cousin Rose."

"What do you mean by that?" demanded the heiress quickly.

"I mean that it is easy enough accounting for the loss of your jewels."

"Well?"

"Your friend, Mr. Bordine borrowed them, doubtless to tide over a financial difficulty."

"Janet!"

"Well, you can't trust these men."

"But you shall not insult August with such insinuations," cried Rose, reddening indignantly.

"Well, he was your only visitor. If a burglar had entered the house there would be some signs by which you could determine how he gained your room. None exist, so I say that it was undoubtedly that lover of yours who borrowed his lady's jewels."

And then Miss Williams gave vent to a tantalizing laugh, that only served to roil the feelings of Rose more deeply than ever.

"You ugly girl!" exclaimed Rose, "I ought to turn you out of this house for such vile aspersions. I won't, however, for I know you are only doing this to tease me."

"After all it is true."

"You don't believe any such thing, Janet."

"Yes I do."

Rose left her cousin, hot with indignation. She went to her mother, a weak invalid, who had no consolation to offer. That was not in her line. The word peevish would pretty well describe the condition of Mrs. Alstine, who had a chronic ailment that prevented her enjoying the hospitality of friends.

Two days passed with no solution of the mystery.

And during the time August Bordine did not come to the Alstine house. For this there was good reason. He was not yet able to move about comfortably on account of his hurt. He read of the burglary in the morning paper, and wondered if the police would prove any more successful in capturing the burglars than they had in elucidating the Ridgewood murder mystery.

After the passage of twenty-four hours the young engineer became not a little anxious with regard to Silas Keene.

The detective had promised to report before now, his visit to the saloon and interview Perry Jounce, the tramp.

"Why did he not come?"

"I can't stand this much longer," murmured August, as he sat still under the burden of pain, waiting for some news from Keene.

Rose Alstine was not a strong-minded female, yet she possessed a will of her own, and once she set her mind on an object she was destined to obtain it or make a desperate effort at least.

A sudden resolve entered her mind to visit the home of August Bordine and consult with him on the mysterious burglary.

No sooner thought of than the impetuous girl proceeded to carry it into effect. She took a street car to the suburbs, and then, with directions from the driver, set out to find the house of Mr. Bordine, which she had never visited.

These were among dwellings in Grandon similar to the one occupied by
August Bordine and his mother.

In a little time the girl came to a halt in front of a cottage.

"This must be the place," thought Rose, opening the gate.

She went to the front door and rung the bell. No answer was vouchsafed, and concluding that no one was at home, Rose turned to retrace her steps, when she espied a summer-house at a little distance, from which the murmur of voices proceeded.

The house was almost hidden by dense foliage.

"August and his mother are out yonder, it seems," thought Rose. "I will go to them, and give August a glad surprise." Then, with a light heart, the maiden tripped down a grass-lined path toward the summer-house.

She was to encounter a scene she little expected. Soon she was in the vicinity of the cool bower where August and his mother had retired for friendly chat.

"Don't speak that way, Andrew; it hurts me."

It was the voice of a woman, and involuntarily the steps of Rose Alstine halted. Could that be her lover's mother thus addressing her son? The girl was too deeply excited to notice that the name uttered was not that of her lover.

Moving on, Rose soon stood where she could gaze into the summer-house. Then she came to a halt. It was a picture that poor Rose never forgot—that presented to her at that moment.

She saw two persons in the little leaf-embowered room—a man and young woman.

The latter stood with hand clasped about the neck of the young man, who was handsome in the extreme. Was there a handsomer man in Grandon than August Bordine?

Rose did not believe it, and there he stood with that woman's arms about his neck, her pale face upturned to his, the light of a pleading, all-enduring love in her dark eyes.

It was a love scene in every sense of the word.

Rose shuddered and grew white, yet she dared not advance, dared not interrupt the scene presented to her gaze. Eavesdropping was foreign to her nature, yet at that moment it was not in her power to recede, and so she was held in her tracks—compelled to listen to words that rent her heart like death itself.

"My dear, you wrong me when you imagine that I care for any one but you. I did disapprove of your following me here, for you know that I must depend upon my wits for a living, and I think I might do better without the incumbrance of a wife."

"Oh, that is the same old argument. You have put me off with it time and again. I wish you would consent to do as other people do, and live an honest life."

"But I cannot. I must ever appear as a single man, for it would not do to let it be known that I have a wife. Zounds, Iris, I would be out of business in short order."

For some moments silence followed these words.

The rather pretty woman whom the gentleman had termed his wife still clung to the neck of her liege lord, evidently too much wrought up to speak again.

"Come now, Iris dear, let this scene end here and now. I have a little business of a most important nature on hand, and time is precious."

He tried to disengage her hands, but she clung to him with wonderful tenacity.

Neither saw the girl in the shadow of the vines outside, who regarded the twain with blanched cheeks, clasped hands, and eyes dilating with a weird and awful suffering.

"Time is precious," uttered the lips of the young wife. "Alas! that it should be so precious that you must needs neglect me. I wish to ask you a question, Andrew."

"Well?"

"Did you have aught to do with this robbery at the Alstine mansion?"

"Sh! my dear, that would be telling."

"I know you were up there two nights since."

"Ah, you were dogging my steps."

"No, but—"

"I cannot permit this to go on, Iris," uttered the man, sternly. "You are ruining my business, Iris. I do wish you would return to New York."

"I will go when you go."

"Not before?"

"Not before."

Then fell a silence. There was a worried, half-angry expression on the countenance of the man, that did not escape the notice of the girl, who, in spite of her inclination, was a listener to all that was taking place within the walls of the summer-house.

"Release me now, I must go," uttered the man, in accents that were harsh and stern.

Still the woman clung to his neck.

"Oh, my darling, my darling!" she wailed, half-sobbing in the strength of her emotion. "You must not go from me again, Andrew. I am your wife, and you have no right to flirt with other women!"

Seizing her hands, he tore them loose and flung her violently aside.

"This is enough of this foolishness," he declared, angrily. "I want you to remain here in seclusion and behave yourself. When I can settle down with a fortune, then I will acknowledge you before the world, and we will cut a swell; but let me tell you that if you envoke any further trouble simply because I visit other ladies occasionally, you will hear from me in a way that you little expect."

[Illustration: "OH, MY DARLING—MY DARLING!" SHE WAILED, HALF SOBBING IN
THE STRENGTH OF HER EMOTION.]

The woman sank to a seat and covered her face with her hands, while a groan escaped her lips.

One glance he cast at her, then he turned and strode from the place. Another instant and he stood facing Rose Alstine, whose pallid face and flowing eyes quite startled him. "Heavens! you here?" he ejaculated, settling back in a tremor of dismay.