of age. Well, his business flourished. Good luck seemed to attend him in all his ventures, and he seemed likely to accumulate enough to retire upon before many years."
Peter started, and as the story progressed seemed to be internally agitated. A keen glance satisfied his visitor of this; without appearing to notice it, however, he went on,—
"But things don't always turn out as well as we expect. Just when things looked brightest there came a sudden blow, for which the merchant was unprepared. On going to his counting-room one morning, he discovered that his book-keeper had disappeared, and what was worse, had carried off with him the sum of twenty thousand dollars—a large sum, was it not?"
"What is all this to me?" demanded Peter, with sudden fierceness.
"I will tell you by and by," said the stranger, coolly.
"I will take the liberty to put a little more wood into the stove, and then go on with my story."
"I—I'll put some in," said Peter.
He took a small stick about half as large round as his wrist, and opening the stove-door, put it in.
"That'll do to begin with," said the stranger, following it, to Peter's dismay, with half a dozen larger ones. "Now we'll be comfortable."
IV.
A STARTLING QUESTION
While Peter's uneasiness became every moment more marked, his visitor continued,—
"This sad defalcation was the more unfortunate because, on that very day notes to a heavy amount became due. Of course the merchant was unable to pay them. Do you know what was the result?"
"How should I know?" asked Peter, testily, avoiding the gaze of the stranger, and fixing his eyes uneasily upon the fire.
"Of course you couldn't know, I was foolish to think such a thing."
"Then what made you think it?" said Peter, in a petulant tone. "I don't care to hear your story. What has it got to do with me?"
"Don't be in too much of a hurry, and perhaps you will learn quite as soon as you care to. The same result followed, which always does follow when a business man cannot meet his engagements. He failed."
Peter stirred uneasily, but said nothing.
"His character for integrity was such that there were many who would have lent him a helping hand, and carried him safely through his troubles; but he was overwhelmed by the blow, and sank under it. Refusing all offers of assistance, he took to his bed, and some six months after died."
"And what became of his daughter?" asked Peter, showing a little curiosity for the first time.
"Ha! you seem to be getting interested," exclaimed the other, fixing his keen eyes upon Peter, who seemed confused. "His daughter was beautiful and had already won the heart of a young American, who had little money but a handsome figure and good business habits."
"Did she marry this young Codman?"
"Who told you his name was Codman?" asked Peter's visitor, watching him keenly.
"I—I thought you did," stammered the miser, disconcerted.
"You are mistaken. I have mentioned no name."
"Then I—I must have misunderstood you."
"I dare say," said the other, ironically. "However, we won't dispute that point. Well, this young Codman,—for singularly enough you hit upon the right name, not knowing anything of the circumstances of course,—this young Codman married Isabel."
"Isabel!" repeated the old man. "Her name was–"
Here he paused in sudden confusion, feeling that he was betraying himself by his incautious correction.
"Yes, Peter," said the other with a shrewd smile, "you are right. Her name was not Isabel, but Eleanor. I acknowledge that I was wrong; but it seems to me that, for one who is entirely a stranger to the events I have been describing, you show a wonderful shrewdness in detecting my mistakes."
Peter maintained a confused silence, and wriggled about uneasily, as if the stranger's fixed and watchful gaze disturbed him.
"Humph! well they say that some people have the gift of second sight, and others can see through millstones, and various other wonderful things."
"What has all this to do with me?" asked Peter, crossly, for he felt it necessary to make some demonstration. "It's getting late, and I want to go to bed. Go away, and—and come again to-morrow, if you want to."
"A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush, Peter, which means that I am sure of you now, and perhaps you wouldn't let me in if I should call to-morrow. If you are sleepy I have no objection to your going to bed. I can talk to you as well as if you were sitting up. I will stay here and keep the fire going."
Peter looked at the small pile of wood with a groan, and muttered something about "its being awful extravagant to keep such a fire."
"I believe," said the stranger, "I have not yet told you the name of the defaulted clerk."
Peter said nothing.
"It was Thornton, but his first name was Peter, the same as yours. Singular, isn't it, Peter?"
"I suppose there are a good many Peters in the world," muttered the old man.
"Very likely; though I hope most of them are better than this Peter Thornton. He got off without being taken, with the twenty thousand dollars in his possession. He was fond of money, and many thought this explained the defalcation. However, there were not wanting others who assigned a different motive. It was said that he had been smitten by the youthful charms of his employer's daughter Eleanor, who did not favor his suit."
Peter shifted uneasily in his chair.
"No one could blame her. In fact it was perfectly preposterous for him to think of mating with her. Did you speak?"
"No!" snarled Peter.
"I thought you said something. I repeat, that she had plenty of reasons for rejecting him. She was just sixteen, and beautiful as she was young, and had no lack of admirers ready to devote themselves to her. As for Peter Thornton, ha! ha! he never could have been very handsome, from all I have heard of him. In the first place, he was forty or more."
"Thirty-eight," muttered Peter, below his breath.
"And his features were irregular, besides being marked with the small-pox, which he had had in early life. He had a long, hooked nose like a bird's beak, an enormous mouth, little sharp gray eyes like a ferret's, and his hair was already mingled with gray. On the whole, he hadn't much beauty to boast of. Did you say anything?"
"No!" snarled Peter, sourly. He was sitting with his elbows on his knees, and his face resting on his hands.
"Beg pardon, I thought you spoke. To add to Peter's charms of person, his disposition was not the sweetest that ever was. He had a harsh and crabbed manner, which would have led to his discharge if he had not had one saving trait. I will say, to his credit, that he was a capital book-keeper. Of his honesty his employer thought he was well assured, and probably if nothing had occurred of a character to wound Peter's pride, he might have continued faithful to his trust. One day,
