There was but little variety in the monotonous life of Peter Manson. His life was one struggle for gold, his thoughts were continually upon gold; gold seemed to be the end and aim of his existence. But what did he propose to do with it all? He was not an old man yet, but all the infirmities of age were upon him.

Peter had not forgotten nor ceased to lament the heavy draft which had been made upon him by Randall. The thousands which he had left could not compensate to him for the one he had lost. So, in the hope of making it up, he strove to live even more economically than before, if, indeed, that were possible. The additional privations to which he subjected himself began to tell upon the old man's constitution. He grew thinner and weaker and more shrivelled than before, and all this to save a penny or two additional each day.

As Peter was crawling feebly along towards his gloomy den one afternoon, clad in the invariable blue cloak, he was startled by[277] hearing a hoarse voice behind him, calling out, "Peter Manson—Peter, I say!"

"Who calls?" asked Peter, in a quavering voice, slowly turning round.

"Don't you remember me?" asked Randall, for it was he.

Peter muttered something unintelligible as he cast a terrified glance at the mate, and quickened his pace.

"You're not very polite, Peter," said the other, quickly overtaking and joining the old man. "Is this the way to greet an old friend, whom you have not seen for nearly a year?"

Peter looked anxious and alarmed, and glanced askance at his companion.

By this time they had reached the miser's quarters, and Peter, taking out a key, opened the door.

He opened it just sufficiently to admit himself, and was then about to close it when Randall, unceremoniously pushing him aside, entered also.

"By your leave, Peter, I will spend a short time with you."

"I have no fire," said Peter Manson, hastily.

"I dare say not," said Randall, carelessly, "but you can easily kindle one."

"I—I have no fuel."

[278]

"None at all?"

"Why, a little—a very little," stammered Peter, uneasily.

"I thought so. Come, lead the way. I won't trouble you to light the fire. I'll do it myself."

With something that sounded like a groan, the old man led the way, and ushered his unwelcome guest into the room described in one of the earlier chapters.

Randall used as much wood in kindling a fire as would have lasted Peter a whole day.

"You will ruin me," he said, in dismay.

"Then you'll be ruined in a good cause," said Randall. "But I say, Peter, don't you remember what we talked about when I visited you last?"

The old man groaned, thinking of the thousand dollars.

"Seems to me it has not left a very agreeable impression upon your mind," remarked his companion. "Don't you want me to tell you of the boy that I spirited away?"

"Is he dead?" asked Peter, eagerly.

"No; curse him, he escaped from me."

"You—you didn't let him know about the money?"

"Which you feloniously kept from him? Was that what you mean?"

[279]

"Ye—yes."

"No, I didn't."

Peter looked relieved.

"Where is he now?"

"Heaven knows! I don't. He deserted from the ship at Rio Janeiro. But let me ask you, in turn, Peter, what has become of the mother, whom each of us has so much reason to hate?"

"I don't know."

"Then she is no longer a tenant of yours?"

"She moved in less than a month after you went away."

"Couldn't pay her rent, ha!"

"Yes; she paid it as long as she stayed. I have not seen or heard anything of her since."

"I have," said the mate, significantly.

"You!" exclaimed Peter, eagerly.

"I saw her to-day."

"How—where?"

"In a carriage."

"A carriage!" echoed Peter, in surprise.

"Yes; looking as bright and handsome as when she rejected you with scorn.............