It was a fine morning when the Bouncing Betsey, after a quick and prosperous voyage from Valparaiso, entered Boston harbor. There had been few or no changes on board since the ship left Rio Janeiro on the passage out. Captain Brace is still in command, and unfortunately has not at all mended his ways, but has richly merited, as he has obtained, the general dislike of the crew, not one of whom will sail with him again unless forced by dire necessity. Second in odium as he is in command, comes Randall the mate. He cares little how he is regarded by the men under him. To him the voyage has proved in some respects a disappointment. He has not recovered from the vexation occasioned by the escape of Bill Sturdy and Charlie. He has anticipated with eagerness the return to Boston, where he hopes first to meet with the deserters, and secondly intends to wrest a further sum from the fears of Peter Manson.

Before visiting the miser, however, it is his intention to find out what he can about Mrs. Codman, and how she has fared. He hopes in his vindictiveness she has been reduced to the deepest distress, and the hardest shifts to procure a livelihood.

He made his way to the tenement-house where Mrs. Codman formerly lodged. He went up to the door of her former room and knocked, but it was opened by a stranger, who could give him no information about the person for whom he inquired.

Perplexed and quite at a loss to obtain a clew to the knowledge he desired, he went back to Washington Street, and mingled in the busy throng that crowded the sidewalks. He walked leisurely along, gazing listlessly into the shop windows, but intent upon his own thoughts.

Chancing to let his eyes rest upon a passing carriage, he was startled by the glimpse of a face which he was sure he knew. It was an elegant carriage, drawn by two spirited horses, and evidently the equipage of a person of wealth. A negro coachman in livery sat upon the box, and wielded the reins with a dexterous hand. There were two persons inside—one was a child of ten, a lively young girl, across whose face a hundred changeful expressions flit. She was talking in an animated strain to a lady with a beautiful and expressive face, who sat beside her.

These two persons were Bert and her governess. The latter was looking better than when she was introduced to the reader. Surrounded by comforts and luxuries, and above all relieved from her most pressing anxiety by the letter which she had received from Charlie, her cheeks had recovered their wonted fullness and bloom, and the rare beauty for which she had been distinguished in her youth.

Randall could scarcely believe his eyes. This was the woman whom he had pictured to himself as struggling amid the deepest poverty to obtain a scanty subsistence, worn out by harrowing anxiety for the loss of her only son. What a contrast to his anticipations was the reality! He saw her tastefully dressed—the picture of health and happiness—with the same beauty that had dazzled him in times past, surrounded by evidence of prosperity and luxury.

"What can it mean?" he thought in bewilderment. "Is it possible that my eyes are deceived by an accidental resemblance?"

The carriage had already passed him, but as it was obliged to proceed slowly on account of a press of carriages, he had no difficulty, by quickening his pace a little, in overtaking it, and again scanning the face whose presence there had filled him with so much surprise.

The first explanation which suggested itself to him as possible was, that Mrs. Codman had attracted the attention of some wealthy gentleman, who forgetting the distance which circumstances had established between them, had laid himself and his fortune at her feet. But even then how could she appear so lighthearted and happy unless Charlie had returned? There was another supposition that old Peter Manson had died, and on his deathbed, repenting his past wickedness and injustice, had repaired the wrong of which he had been guilty, as far as he could, by leaving all his possessions to Mrs. Codman. This was to Randall the most disagreeable supposition of the two, for it would effectually stand in the way of the designs which he cherished against the same property.

Determined not to lose sight of Mrs. Codman, he with considerable difficulty kept pace with the carriage. It chanced that Bert and her governess were just returning from a drive, otherwise they might have led Randall a long chase. At present they were not very far from home.

From the opposite side of the street Randall watched them descend the steps of the carriage, and enter the house. He paused long enough afterwards to cross the street, note down the name of Bowman together with the number, that he might be able to identify it hereafter. He then examined the house itself with some curiosity. The appearance of the house indicated clearly enough the wealth of the owner.

"I wish I knew," muttered the mate, "on what footing Mrs. Codman resides here. She must either be the wife of the proprietor or his housekeeper, one or the other."

At this moment an infirm old woman limped out of the side-gate, with a basket slung on her arm.

Pressing forward, he accosted her.

"You seem heavily laden, my good woman."

"Yes," said she, "thanks to the good lady who lives in the house."

"What is her name?"

"It's Mrs. Codman. Do you know her, sir?"

"I am not sure. I once knew some one of the name. But there is a different name on the door—Bowman."

"Yes, he is the gentleman of the house."

"And Mrs. Codman?"

"She is the young lady's governess."

"How long has she been there?"

"I don't know, sir."

"Never mind. It doesn't matter much."

"I wish I could tell you, sir."

"It's of no consequence at all, and you needn't mention that any questions have been asked you. But I am afraid I have been detaining you. Here is something to pay you for your trouble."

So saying he slipped half a dollar into her hand and, avoiding her profuse thanks, walked hastily away.

"Now, for a visit to the miser," he said to himself.