"So he's married again, the sly villain!" muttered the stranger, as, after leaving the boys, he proceeded on his way to Mr. Craven's office. "That will be good news for my sister, won't it? And so that's his step-son? A nice-looking, well-dressed boy. Likely Craven has feathered his nest, and married a fortune. If so, all the better. I may get a few feathers for my own nest, if I work my cards right."

Meanwhile Mr. Craven had seated himself at an office table, and was looking over a paper of instructions, having been commissioned to write a will for one of the town's people. He had drawn out a printed form, and had just dipped his pen in the ink, when a knock was heard at the outer door that opened upon the street.

"I suppose it's Mr. Negley, come for the will. He'll have to wait," thought Craven, and as the thought passed through his mind, he said, "Come in!"

The door opened.

He mechanically raised his eyes, and his glance rested upon the man whom we have introduced in the last chapter.

A remarkable change came over Mr. Craven's face. First surprise, then palpable dismay, drove the color from his cheeks, and he stood up in silent consternation.

The other appeared to enjoy the sensation caused by his arrival, and laughed.

"Why, man, you look as if I were a ghost. No such thing. I'm alive and well, and delighted to see you again," he added, significantly. "By Jove, I've had hard work finding you, but here I am, you see."

"How—did—you—find—me?" asked Craven, huskily.

"How did I find you? Well, I got upon your tracks in New York. Never mind how, as long as I have found you. Well, have you no welcome for me?"

"What do you want of me?" asked Mr. Craven, sullenly.

"What do I want of you?" echoed the other, with a laugh. "Why, considering the relationship between us—"

Mr. Craven's pallor increased, and he shifted his position uneasily.

"Considering the relationship between us, it is only natural that I should want to see you."

He paused, but Mr. Craven did not offer any reply.

"By the way, your wife is very uneasy at your long absence," continued the newcomer, fixing his eyes steadily upon the shrinking Craven.

"For Heaven's sake stop, or speak lower!" exclaimed Craven, exhibiting the greatest alarm.

"Come, now, Craven, is any allusion to your wife so disagreeable? Considering that she is my sister, it strikes me that I shall have something to say on that subject."

"Don't allude to her, Sharpley," said the other, doggedly. "I shall never see her again. We—we didn't live happily, and are better apart."

"You may think so, but do you think I am going to have my sister treated in this way—deserted and scorned?"

"I can't help it," was the dogged reply.

"You can't? Why not?"

And the man addressed as Sharpley fixed his eyes upon his brother-in-law.

"Why do you come here to torment me?" said Craven, fiercely, brought to bay. "Why can't you leave me alone? Your sister is better off without me. I never was a model husband."

"That is where you are right, Craven; but, hark you!" he added, bending forward, "do you think we are going to stand by and do nothing while you are in the enjoyment of wealth and the good things of life?"

"Wealth? What do you mean?" stammered Craven.

The other laughed slightly.

"Do you take me for a mole? Did you suppose I wouldn't discover that you are married again, and that your marriage has brought you money?"

"So you have found it out?" said Mr. Craven, whose worst apprehensions were now confirmed.

"I met your step-son a few minutes ago, and he directed me here."

"Did you tell him?" asked Craven, in dismay.

"Tell him? No, not yet. I wanted to see you first."

"I'm glad you didn't. He doesn't like me. It would be all up with me if you had."

"Don't be frightened, Craven. It may not be so bad as you think. We may be able to make some friendly arrangement. Tell me about it, and then we'll consult together. Only don't leave anything untold. Situated as we are, I demand your entire confidence."

Here the door opened, and Mr. Negley appeared.

"Have you finished that 'ere dokkyment, Mr. Craven?" asked the old-fashioned farmer, to whom the name belonged.

"No, Mr. Negley," said Mr. Craven, with his customary suavity, "not yet, I am sorry to say. I've had a great deal to do, and I am even now consulting with a client on an important matter. Could you wait till to-morrow?"

"Sartain, Mr. Craven. I ain't in no hurry. Only, as I was passing, I thought I'd just inquire. Good mornin', squire."

"Good morning, Mr. Negley."

"So you are in the lawyer's line again, Craven?" said Sharpley. "You are turning to good account that eight months you spent in a law office in the old country?"

"Yes, I do a little in that line."

"Now, tell me all about this affair of yours. I don't want to ruin you. May be we can make an arrangement that will be mutually satisfactory."

Thus adjured, and incited from time to time by questions from his visitor, Mr. Craven unfolded the particulars of his situation.

"Well, the upshot of it is, Craven, that you've feathered your nest, and made yourself comfortable. That's all very well; but it seems to me, that your English wife has some rights in the matter."

"You need not tell her," said Craven, hastily. "What good will it do?"

"It won't do you any good, but it may benefit her and me."

"How can it benefit 'her and me?' How can it benefit either of you, if I am found out, and obliged to flee from this place into penury?"

"Why, not exactly in that way. In fact, I may feel disposed to let you alone, if you'll come down handsomely. The fact is, Craven, my circumstances are not over prosperous, and of course I don't forget that I have a rich brother-in-law."

"You call me rich. You are mistaken. I get a living, but the money is my wife's."

"If it is hers, you can easily get possession of it."

"Only one-third of it belongs to her. Two-thirds belong to that boy you met—my step-son."

"Suppose he dies?"

"It goes to my wife."

"Then you have some chance of it."

"Not much; he is a stout, healthy boy."

"Look here, Craven, you must make up your mind to do something for me. Give me a thousand dollars down."

"I couldn't without my wife finding out. Besides you would be coming back for more."

"Well, perhaps I might," said the other, coolly.

"You would ruin me," exclaimed Craven, sullenly. "Do you think I am made of money?"

"I know this—that it will be better for you to share your prosperity with me, and so insure not being disturbed. Half a loaf is better than no bread."

Mr. Craven fixed his eyes upon the table, seriously disturbed.

"How much is the boy worth?" asked Sharpley, after a pause.

"Forty thousand dollars."

"Forty thousand dollars!" exclaimed Sharpley, his eyes sparkling with greed. "That's splendid."

"For him, yes. It doesn't do me any good."

"Didn't you say, that in the event of his death the money would go to your wife?"

"Yes."

"He may die."

"So may we. That's more likely. He's a stout boy, as you must have observed, since you have met him."

"Life is uncertain. Suppose he should have a fever, or meet with an accident."

"Suppose he shouldn't."

"My dear Craven," said Sharpley, drawing his chair nearer that of his brother-in-law, "it strikes me that you are slightly obtuse, and you a lawyer, too. Fie upon you! My meaning is plain enough, it strikes me."

"What do you mean?" inquired Craven, coloring, and shifting uneasily in his chair. "You wouldn't have me murder him, would you?"

"Don't name such a thing. I only mean, that if we got a good opportunity to expose him to some sickness, and he happened to die of it, it would be money in our pockets."

Craven looked startled, and his sallow face betrayed by its pallor his inward disturbance.

"That is absurd," he said. "There is no chance of that here. If the boy should die I shouldn't mourn much, but he may live to eighty. There's not much chance of any pestilence reaching this town."

"Perhaps so," said the other, shrugging his shoulders, "but then this little village isn't the whole world."

"You seem to have some plan to propose," said Mr. Craven, eagerly. "What is it?"

"I propose," said Sharpley, "that you send the boy to Europe with me."

"To Europe?"

"Yes; on a traveling tour, for his education, improvement, anything. Only send him under my paternal care, and—possibly he might never come back."

Mr. Craven was not a scrupulous man, and this proposal didn't shock him as it should have done, but he was a timid man, and he could not suppress a tremor of alarm.

"But isn't there danger in it?" he faltered.

"Not if it is rightly managed," said Sharpley.

"And how do you mean to manage it?"

"Can't tell yet," answered the other, carelessly. "The thought has just occurred to me, and I have had no time to think it over. But that needn't trouble you. You can safely leave all that to me."

Mr. Craven leaned his head on his hand and reflected. Here was a way out of two embarrassments. This plan offered him present safety and a continuance of his good fortune, with the chance of soon obtaining control of Frank's fortune.

"Well, what do you say?" asked Sharpley.

"I should like it well enough, but I don't know what my wife and the boy will say."

"Has Mrs. Craven the—second—a will of her own?"

"No, she is very yielding."

"Doesn't trouble you, eh? By the way, what did she see in you, Craven, or my sister either, for that matter, to attract her? There's no accounting for tastes, surely."

"That is not to the point," said Craven, impatiently.

"You are right. That is not to the point. Suppose we come to the point, then. If your wife is not strong-minded she can be brought over, and the boy, if he is like most boys, will be eager to embrace the chance of visiting Europe, say for three months. It will be best, I suppose, that the offer should come from me. I'll tell you what you must do. Invite me to supper to-night and offer me a bed, and I'll lay the train. Shall it be so?"

"Agreed," said Craven, and thus the iniquitous compact was made.