"I can't understand this," said Mrs. Burton, beginning to be troubled. "My poor husband had made all arrangements for paying his interest on the day of his death. When he left the house, he spoke of it. Do you mean to say he did not call at your office?"

If Aaron Wolverton had dared, he would have denied this, but Mr. Burton had been seen to enter the office, and so that he would not do him any good.

"He did call upon me, Mrs. Burton."

"And said nothing about the interest?"

"He said this, that he would pay me the coming week."

"He said that, when he had the money in his pocket?" said Mrs. Burton, incredulously.

"Of course I didn't know that he had the money with him. He probably thought of another way in which he wanted to use a part or all of it."

"I don't believe it. He never mentioned any other use for it, and he was not owing any one except you. Mr. Wolverton, I don't like to say it, but I think he paid you the interest."

"Do you doubt my word?" demanded Wolverton, with assumed indignation.

"Suppose I say that you have forgotten it."

"I would not forget anything of that kind. You are very unjust, Mrs. Burton, but I will attribute that to your disappointment. Let me suggest one thing, however. If your husband had paid me, he would have been sure to take a receipt. If you have his wallet here—I happen to know that he was in the habit of carrying a wallet—and you doubt my word, examine the wallet and see if you can find the receipt."

Mrs. Burton thought this a good suggestion, and went up-stairs for the wallet. She opened it, but, as Wolverton had good reason to know would be the case, failed to find the important paper.

"I can't find it," she said, as she re-entered the room.

"Did I not tell you so?" returned Wolverton, triumphantly. "Doesn't that settle it? Wasn't your husband a good enough business man to require a receipt for money paid?"

"Yes, yes," murmured the widow. "Mr. Wolverton, if you are right it arouses in my mind a terrible suspicion. Could my husband have been waylaid, murdered, and robbed?"

"No, I don't think so. His death was evidently the result of accident—the upset of his team."

"What then became of the money—the hundred and fifty dollars which he carried with him?"

"There, my dear lady, you ask me a question which I cannot answer. I am as much in the dark as you are."

"If this story is true, then we are one hundred and fifty dollars poorer than we supposed. It will be bad news for Robert."

"It need not be bad news for you, Mrs. Burton," said Wolverton, in an insinuating tone, shoving his chair a little nearer that occupied by the widow.

Mrs. Burton looked up in surprise.

"How can it fail to be bad news for me?" she asked. "A loss like that I cannot help feeling."

"Do you think I would be hard on you, Mrs. Burton?" asked Wolverton, in the same soft voice.

"If you are disposed to wait for the money, or relinquish a part under the circumstances, Robert and I will feel very grateful to you, Mr. Wolverton."

"I might, upon conditions," said the agent, furtively shoving his chair a little nearer.

"What conditions?" asked Mrs. Burton, suspiciously.

"I will tell you, if you won't be offended. Mrs. Burton—Mary—you can't have forgotten the early days in which I declared my love for you. I—I love you still. If you will only promise to marry me—after a while—all shall be easy with you. I am a rich man—richer than people think, and can surround you with luxuries. I will be a father to that boy of yours, and try to like him for your sake. Only tell me that you will be mine!"

Mrs. Burton had been so filled with indignation that she let him run on, quite unable to command her voice sufficiently to stem the torrent of his words. As he concluded, she rose to her feet, her eyes flashing, and her voice tremulous with anger, and said: "Mr. Wolverton, are you aware that my poor husband has been dead but a month?"

"I am perfectly aware of it, Mary."

"Don't address me so familiarly, sir."

"Mrs. Burton, then, I am perfectly acquainted with that fact, and would not have spoken now, but I saw you were anxious about the future, and I wished to reassure you. Of course I wouldn't hurry you; I only meant to get some kind of an answer that I might depend upon."

"And you thought that, after loving such a man as Richard Burton, I would be satisfied to take such a man as you?" said the widow, with stinging sarcasm.

"Richard Burton was not an angel," said Wolverton, harshly, for his pride was touched by the contempt which she made no effort to conceal.

"Don't dare to say anything against him!" said the widow, her eyes flashing ominously.

"Well, then, he was an angel," said Wolverton, sulkily; "but he's dead, and you will need to look to another protector."

"My son will protect me," said Mrs. Burton, proudly.

"That boy?" said Wolverton, contemptuously. "But I make allowance for a mother's feelings. Once more, Mary, I make you the offer. Remember that I am a rich man, and can surround you with luxuries."

"I would rather live in a log house on a crust, than to marry you, Mr. Wolverton," she said, impetuously. "If you were the only man in the world, I would go unmarried to my grave rather than wed you!"

Wolverton rose, white with wrath.

"You are tolerably explicit, madam," he said. "I can't charge you with beating round the bush. But let me tell you, ma'am, that you have done the unwisest act of your life in making me your enemy."

"I did not mean to make you an enemy," said Mrs. Burton, softening. "I suppose I ought to acknowledge the compliment you have paid me, but I must decline, once for all, and request you never again to mention the subject."

Aaron Wolverton was not so easily appeased.

"I do not care to stay any longer," he said. "You had better mention to your son about the interest."

Mrs. Burton had an opportunity to do this almost immediately, for Bob and Clip entered the house just as Wolverton was leaving it.

"What have you done to Mr. Wolverton, mother?" asked Bob. "He looked savage enough to bite my head off, and wouldn't even speak to me."

"Robert, I have some bad news to tell you. Mr. Wolverton tells me that your father didn't pay him the interest on the day of his death."

"I believe he tells a falsehood," said Bob, quickly.

"But he says, with some show of reason, if the interest was paid, why didn't your father take a receipt?"

"Can no receipt be found?"

"No; I searched your father's wallet in vain."

"What is a receipt, missis?" asked Clip.

"It's a piece of paper with writing on it, Clip," said the widow, adjusting her explanations to Clip's intelligence.

"Golly! I saw de old man take a piece of paper from Massa Burton's pocket after he was dead—when he was a-lyin' on the ground."

"Say that again, Clip," said Bob, eagerly.

Clip repeated it, and answered several questions put to him by Mrs. Burton and Bob.

"It's all clear, mother," said Bob. "That old rascal has got up a scheme to rob you. He thinks there isn't any proof of the payment. If he suspected that Clip had been a witness of his robbery he would have been more careful."

"What shall I do, Bob?"

"Wait a while. Let him show his hand, and then confront him with Clip's testimony. I wonder if he destroyed the receipt?"

"Probably he did so."

"If he didn't, I may get it through Sam. Don't be worried, mother. It'll all come out right."

One thing the widow did not venture to tell Bob—about Mr. Wolverton's matrimonial offer. It would have made him so angry that she feared he would act imprudently.