Old Anthony was sitting in his doorway, thoughtfully smoking a pipe, when, chancing to lift his eyes, his gaze fell upon the figure of his nephew advancing towards the cabin. It was a surprise, and not a pleasant one. He could not divine Lyman's object in making this second visit.

"How are you getting along, Uncle Anthony?" inquired Lyman, in a conciliatory tone.

"Have you come all the way from New York to ask me that question?" said the hermit, dryly.

"Well, not altogether. Still, I wanted to know whether you were better."

"I have got over my rheumatic attack," said Anthony, shortly.

"I'm very glad. At your age it must be uncomfortable to be sick—especially in such a place. Can't I persuade you to come to New York, and take comfortable lodgings?"

"Why should you desire it? Perhaps you would propose to live with me?"

"And if I did, being your only relative, it would be natural enough. With your means——"

"What do you know of my means?" demanded the hermit, sharply.

"I have reason to think you are better off than your position would indicate," announced Lyman, watching the effect of the assertion on his uncle.

"What reason?" inquired Anthony.

"Well, I know you were very successful in California—after I left you. You struck it rich, made a great deal of money, and then sold the claim for a good round sum."

Anthony's countenance did not change, though the communication was by no means a welcome one.

"How much of this money do you think I have now?" he asked, at length.

"I don't know."

"And I don't propose to tell you."

"I know you have some of it!"

"Very possibly. I cannot live for n............