When James Cromwell alluded to the possibility of his receiving a legacy of ten thousand dollars at no distant date, it will be understood at once that he alluded to the sum promised him by Paul Morton in the event of the death of his ward. He had endeavored to compass Robert's death at Niagara Falls, but since his failure there, he had let the matter drop, partly from a timid fear of consequences, partly from the thought that even without this sum he was sure of a good income. But the unexpected condition imposed by Mr. Manton, again turned his thoughts to the question of Robert's death, and its pecuniary advantage to himself; and again our young hero was menaced by a peril by no means insignificant. James Cromwell was neither strong nor brave; but there is no one so powerless that his enmity may be disregarded, especially when it is unsuspected.

But Cromwell's timid nature shrank from the audacity of the crime which suggested itself to his mind. Besides, though he was fascinated by Clara Manton, he was not clear about settling so large a sum as five thousand dollars upon her. He would have done it if in his power, rather than lose her, but if he could obtain her on any easier terms he thought that it would be better. He decided, therefore, to see Clara herself, to communicate to her her father's answer, and prevail upon her, if possible, to marry him without her father's sanction.

Had he known Clara better, he would not have ventured to hope for success, but he was wholly unaware that the mercenary condition had been affixed by Clara herself. He fancied that she loved him for himself, and believed her incapable of being swayed by self-interest.

Chance, as he thought, favored him, for only a short distance from the house he met Clara, herself. She had left the house considerately, in order to allow him an opportunity to call upon her father, and was now returning.

"Mr. Cromwell?" she said, with affected surprise. "I supposed you were in your shop. I fear you are becoming inattentive to business."

"I cannot attend to my business until one matter is decided," said Cromwell.

"What is that?"

"How can you ask? Clara, I have just called upon your father. I asked his permission to marry you."

"What did he say?" inquired the young lady.

"He told me he would consent on certain conditions."

"Certain conditions!" repeated Clara, innocently. "What could they be?"

"He said that I must prove to him that I was worth ten thousand dollars, and must consent to settle half that amount upon you."

"I hope," said Clara, quickly, "that you don't think I had anything to do with such conditions?"

"No; I am sure you had not," said Cromwell; and he believed what he said, for no one, to look in the face of the young lady, would have supposed her mercenary.

"I hope you don't blame papa. He carries prudence to excess."

"No, I don't blame him. It is natural that he should wish to make sure of his daughter's comfort."

"And what did you say in reply?" asked Clara, considerably interested.

"I told him that at present my circumstances would not permit me to comply with his conditions."

"That's a pity."

"But that I was expecting a legacy from a near relative that may possibly fall to me very soon, which would remove every difficulty."

"What did he say then?"

"That when I received the legacy he would give me your hand, provided you were still willing."

The young lady cast her eyes upon the ground. She did not think much of waiting for dead men's shoes, and doubted whether her lover had any such relative as he referred to. In her own mind she looked upon the matter as at an end; and began to consider for whom she had better angle next. She did not, however, mean to say this to Cromwell, for she had no objection to keeping him dancing attendance upon her. It would gratify her vanity, and perhaps he might serve, unconsciously, to help her in snaring some other fish. She thought her best policy in the present case, was to remain silent, unless she was called upon to say something.

"What do you say to that, Clara?" asked Cromwell.

"I suppose it is fair," she said.

"No; it is not fair," he said, "to make me wait so long. I have a good income; I am careful, and not extravagant, and I know I can support you comfortably. Do not make me wait. Tell me will you marry me at once?"

"I cannot disobey my father," said the young lady, who had all at once become very dutiful.

"But do you think he has a right to interfere with your happiness?"

"He does it for my good."

"He thinks so; but do you agree with him?"

"Perhaps not; but I have always been taught to obey my father. I suppose he knows better than I what I ought to do."

"Surely, you are not afraid that I should be unable to support you comfortably?" said Cromwell, reproachfully.

"Oh, no," answered Clara. "I never think of money. My father often tells me that I ought to think more of it. As far as I am concerned, I should never think of asking whether you were worth one thousand dollars or ten."

James Cromwell listened to Clara as she spoke with assumed simplicity, her eyes downcast, and he was so infatuated by his love for her that he never thought of doubting her. In his inexperience of female wiles he was by no means a match for Clara, who was already, though yet under twenty, a finished female coquette. So he accepted her for what she chose to appear and the flame of his passion was increased.

"I am sure," he pleaded, "that if we were once married your father would not object. The legacy I spoke of is sure to come to me in a year or two, for my relative is very old and in very poor health, and there is no fear of his changing his will."

"I have no doubt what you say is all true," said Clara, though in her own heart she had very serious doubts; "but then it will not be very long to wait a year or two, as the money will come to you then."

"A year or two!" repeated Cromwell. "It seems to me like waiting forever."

"I am afraid you have not the gift of patience, Mr. Cromwell," said Clara, smiling archly.

"No; I have not in this case, for I do not think there is any occasion for waiting."

"But my father thinks so, unfortunately. If you can succeed in persuading him to the contrary, you will find me ready to do as you desire."

"Then you are determined to abide by your father's decision," said Cromwell, in accents of disappointment.

"I must," said Clara, mildly, "however much my own heart suffers in consequence," and she put on the air of a victim of parental tyranny; "unless," she added, "I am able to make my father regard it in a different light."

"Promise me that you will try," said her lover, grasping her hand.

"I will do what I can," she said. "But, really, I must go now. My father will not know what has become of me."

With a sweet smile, she left him, and returned to the house. He turned, and went back slowly to his shop.

"Well, that's all over," said Clara, to herself. "I should be a fool to marry such a stupid gawky, unless he could settle money upon me. I don't mean to throw myself away just at present."

"Well, Clara, I have had an offer for your hand," said her father, as she entered his presence.

"Well?"

"I said what you told me, and found he could not comply with the conditions."

"So you refused the honor of a son-in-law?"

"Yes."

"That was right."

"He said he was expecting a legacy of ten thousand dollars in a year or two."

"All humbug, papa. I don't believe a word of it."

"You don't seem inclined to break your heart about the disappointment," said Mr. Manton, with a smile.

"No; he is the last man I would break my heart about, if I were fool enough to break my heart about anybody. I must look out for somebody else."

"And meanwhile?"

"I'll keep a hold on him. There might be something in the story of the legacy, you know."

"I see you are well able to look out for your own interests, Clara."

"So I ought to be."

Thus spoke the unselfish Clara Manton, who was above all mercenary considerations.