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 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."

"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?"

"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."

The miser frowned.

"Where did you meet her?"

"On Washington Street. I was walking there when I chanced to look into a gay carriage that was driving by, and saw her."

"Are you sure you are not mistaken?"

"No. I followed her to her place of residence."

"Where is it?"

"No.——Mt. Vernon Street."

"She must be rich, then."

"No; she is a governess there, though enjoying, I should think, unusual privileges, and is, no doubt, happy."

Peter made no reply, but seemed occupied by other thoughts.

"And now, Peter, have you any idea what I came for?"

"To tell me this."

"I am not fool enough to take all this trouble."

"Then I don't know."

"I want money, Peter."

Peter could not be said to change color, but he grew more ghastly than before, at this demand.

"I have nothing to give you," he said.

"Tell that to the marines. You must give me another thousand dollars."

"Another thousand dollars!" exclaimed the old man. "Where do you think I should get it? Did I not impoverish myself in satisfying your last demand, and have I not been obliged to live on bread and water since?"

Randall shrugged his shoulders.

"I dare say you have lived on bread and water, but as to being obliged to, that is nonsense. I ask you again, to give me a thousand dollars. You will have thousands left."

"I shall be a beggar," said the old man, passionately.

"A beggar!" returned Randall, laughing scornfully.

"Yes," said Peter, with energy. "You promised, when I gave you a thousand dollars,"—his voice faltered as he recalled the sacrifice,—"that you would ask no more. Now, you come back for another sum as large, and it is not yet a year. You shall not have it!" he exclaimed, passionately; "not if I had it fifty times over."

"Bethink you what you are saying, old man," said Randall, menacingly. "Do you know that I can go to Mrs. Codman and denounce you?"

"You will not," said Peter, trembling.

"But I will, unless you comply with my demand. Now what do you say? Better be reasonable, and consent, before I compel you."

"Never!" exclaimed the miser, desperately.

"I will denounce you to the police. Shall I have the money?"

But Peter was no longer to be moved, even by his fears. His love of money overcame every other consideration, and again he exclaimed, "Never!" with all the energy of which he was capable.

"Is this your final answer?"

"It is."

"Then I will help myself," said Randall, coolly, leaving his chair, and beginning to lift up the trap-door, beneath which was the miser's box of treasure.

As soon as Peter fairly comprehended his design, and saw the gold coins in the grasp of the purloiner, unable to restrain himself, he threw himself upon the mate with a cry as of a lioness deprived of her young, and grasped the strong man by the throat with fingers, which, though naturally weak, despair and rage made strong. At all events, it was not particularly comfortable, and provoked Randall, who seized the old man in his strong arms, and, with a muttered curse, hurled him to the floor, where he lay pale and senseless.

"Confusion!" muttered Randall, in dismay, for Peter had uttered a shrill scream as he fell. "I am afraid I shall get into an ugly scrape."

He was not altogether wrong.

The scream had been heard by two, at least, who were passing. The door was burst open, and in rushed Bill Sturdy and Charlie, our young hero, who had just returned to Boston, and were passing on their way up from the wharf at which the vessel was lying.

"Mr. Randall!" exclaimed Charlie, in surprised recognition.

Randall strove to escape through the opened door, but Sturdy, seizing him in his powerful grasp, cried, "Not so fast, my hearty! You've been up to some mischief, and if I don't see justice done you, may I never see salt water again!"