M R. KENYON returned from the South baffled in his enquiries about his wife. Henceforth his life was one unceasing anxiety. He had pretended that his wife was dead, and she might at any time return alive to the village. This would place him in a very disagreeable position. He might, indeed, say that she was insane, and that he had been compelled to place her in an asylum. But everybody would ask: "Why did you not say this before? Why report that your wife was dead?" and he would be unprepared with an answer.

Indeed, he feared that the discovery of his conduct would make him legally liable to an unpleasant extent.

We already know that he had employed Denton to dog the steps of Oliver and Bundy. All at once Denton ceased to communicate with him. For five days not a word had come to him from Chicago. He naturally felt disturbed.

"What has got into Denton? Why doesn\'t he write to me? Can he have betrayed me?"

This is what he said to himself one morning as he sat at his desk in the house which had once been his wife\'s.

"If I could only sell this place even at a sacrifice, I would go to Europe, taking Roland with me," he muttered. "Even as it is, perhaps it will be as well."

Mr. Kenyon looked at the morning paper, searching for the advertisement of the Cunard Line. "A steamer sails on Saturday," he read, "and it is now Tuesday. I will go to the city to-morrow and engage passage. In Europe I shall be safe. Then if my wife turns up I need not fear her."

At this point a servant—one recently engaged—came to the door of his room and informed him that a gentleman wished to see him.

"Do you know who it is?" he enquired.

"No, sir. I never saw him before."

"Bring him up, then; or, stay—is he in the parlor?"

"Yes, sir."

"I will see him there."

Mr. Kenyon came downstairs quite unprepared for the visitor who awaited him.

He started back when his glance fell on Oliver.

"Why do you come here?" he demanded with a frown.

"That is a strange question to ask, Mr. Kenyon. This is the house where I was born. It was built by my father. It ought to be mine."

"Indeed!" answered Kenyon, with a sneer.

"You know it as well as I do, sir."

"I know that the place is mine, and that you are an intruder."

"Upon what do you rest your claim, Mr. Kenyon?" asked our hero.

"Upon your mother\'s will, as you know very well."

"I don\'t believe that my mother would make a will depriving me of my rightful inheritance."

"I care very little what you believe. The will has been admitted to probate and is in force. I don\'t think it will do you any good to dispute it."

"Where did my mother die, Mr. Kenyon?" demanded Oliver, looking fixedly at his step-father.

"Can he have met his mother?" thought Kenyon, momentarily disturbed. But he inwardly decided in the negative. Of course they might meet some day, but then he would be in Europe and out of harm\'s reach.

"You know very well where she died."

"Do you object to tell me?"

"I object to answering foolish questions. What is your motive in reviving this melancholy subject?"

"I want to ask you to have my mother\'s remains brought to this town and laid beside the body of my father in our family tomb."

"He is still in the dark!" thought Mr. Kenyon.

"Impossible!" he answered.

"That\'s true enough," thought Oliver.

"Have you any other business?" asked his step-father.

"I wish you to give me a fair portion of the property which my mother left."

Mr. Kenyon smiled disagreeably. He felt his power.

"Really, your request is very modest," he answered, "but it can\'t be complied with."

"Mr. Kenyon, do you think it right to deprive me of all share in my father\'s property?"

"You have forfeited it by your misconduct," said his step-father decisively.

Just then the door opened, and Roland entered.

"Has he come back?" he demanded disagreeably.

"He has favored us with a call, Roland," said Mr. Kenyon. "He thought we might be glad to see him."

"I wonder he has the face to show himself in this house," said Roland.

"Why?" asked Oliver.

"Oh, you know why well enough. You are a common thief."

"Roland Kenyon, you will see the time when you will regret that insult, and that very soon," said Oliver, with honest indignation.

"Oh, shall I? I\'m not afraid of you," retorted Roland.

"I permit no threats here," said Mr. Kenyon angrily.

"He is safe for the present," said Oliver.

"Thank you for nothing," said Roland. "Father, how long are you going to let him stay in the house?"

"That is not for your father to say, Roland," said Oliver coolly.

"What do you mean, you young reprobate?" demanded the step-father angrily. "If you have come here to make a disturbance, you have come to the wrong place, and selected the wrong man. Will you oblige me by leaving the house?"

Oliver sat near the window. He saw, though neither of the others did, that a carriage stood at the gate, and that Nicholas Bundy and a New York lawyer were descending from it. The time had now come for a change of tone.

"Mr. Kenyon," he said, "My answer is briefly that this house is not yours. I have a better right here than you."

"This insolence is a little too much............