The Mystery

by A Detective

In an out of the way place on           street, is an old building whose ruined gables and quaint architecture tell of a period lone gone by. The columns that sustain the old galleries are stained with age, and the wild creepers in many a curious twine have crept around its arches, and shadow half the roof. In the corner of the flagged court-yard is a fountain, or rather the remains of one, for the waters have long ceased to play, and the marble urn is dry. But the orange trees are fresh and green, and their scented blossoms fill the air with perfume.

Like most old houses, it has a history; and like age usually has, it has been sometimes bright with sunshine and then sad with tears. I knew it first a few years since but the circumstance that caused it to attract my attention led me to learn its legend.

It was then occupied by an old man and his wife. They had lived alone for years. They were not childless, but people said that trouble had come upon the family, and that their young daughter had been driven out from the shelter of the old roof tree. Be that as it may, they had lived alone, their rooms sometimes rented out to lodgers, and in the summer excluded from all intrusion.

But at the time to which I refer, a lady lodger with a little girl had come to them in the spring and secured an apartment. Her life was far more retired than theirs, and at very rare intervals was the lady seen by either the old man or his wife. She went out daily, however, thickly veiled, and remaining several hours, returned generally in tears, as her sobbings would tell the old people, who could hear her sounds and cries of distress. This life went… Read More