We must now go back to Chestnutwood, where the old man, Cornelius Richmond, though blessed with a large share of the gifts of fortune, was passing his declining years in loneliness, with no one of his kindred near him except his nephew, Hugo. For years Hugo had been his constant companion; in manner, at least, he had been devoted to his uncle, yet the old man had never been drawn to him. Sometimes he reproached himself because he could not feel more warmly towards his nephew.

"Hugo seems devoted to me," he said to himself. "Why is it that I cannot thoroughly like him? It must be because my heart is in the grave of my son Julian. Ah, if only his son were living, that I might have my grandson with me. That boy whom I saw riding in the circus—I could get to love him for his resemblance to my son; but Hugo tells me he has lost all traces of him."

The simple old man little suspected that his crafty nephew had taken effectual means to prevent his ever seeing any more of this boy, towards whom he felt a yearning affection, for which we can account, though he could not. Indeed, he was not a man to suspect guile of any one, being in himself so guileless, and he really thought that Hugo's attentions were dictated by genuine affection, instead of selfish scheming for his uncle's wealth.

"You have heard nothing more about the boy, Hugo?" he asked one morning.

"No, uncle," answered Hugo, suppressing an expression of impatience.

"It is strange."

"I am afraid you would be disappointed in him, even if we could find him, and bring him here, Uncle Cornelius."

"No, I should not be disappointed, for I should not expect too much. It would be a pleasure to look upon the boy's face, and think my lost Julian was again before me."

"The old fool!" muttered Hugo under his breath. "Will he never quit harping on that boy?"

"You must remember that he has been brought up in a circus, amid very objectionable associations, uncle," he said aloud. "What can be expected under such circumstances?"

"What is his name?"

"His circus name is Robert Rudd."

The old man repeated it softly to himself.

The same day he sent for a lawyer, and professed his intention to modify his will.

Hugo was alarmed.

"Can he be going to leave anything to that boy?" he asked himself.

He would have liked to have asked his uncle, but only contrived to hint a question, to which the old man replied evasively. In reality, he had appended a codicil to his will, bequeathing the sum of ten thousand dollars "to the young circus rider, generally known as Robert Rudd," and did not like to mention it to Hugo lest the latter should remonstrate with him, and the old man felt too weak to argue.

"There will be enough left for Hugo," he said to himself. "Ten thousand dollars is but a small part of my property."

"It is very lucky," thought Hugo, "that I made arrangements with Fitzgerald to dispose of the boy, in case my uncle has done anything foolish in his will. It will save litigation and trouble."

He looked at the old man—frail, feeble, apparently on the verge of the grave—and reflected with impatience that as he looked now he had looked for five years past. His hold on life was tenacious.

"Good heavens! He may live for five or ten years yet!" thought Hugo. "He looks as if a breath would blow him away; yet he encumbers the earth year after year, holding one in a detestable slavery to his whims and caprices. I shall be an old man myself, or almost one, before Chestnutwood falls into my possession; but when it does"—and his eye flashed with hopeful anticipation, and he walked with a prouder gait—"when it does I will live!"

One day Hugo was just getting ready for a solitary walk when the servant announced, "A gentleman to see you, sir."

"A gentleman? What name?" asked Hugo.

"He said his name was Fitzgerald, sir."

"Fitzgerald?" exclaimed Hugo, his voice betraying the excitement he felt. "Tell him I will be with him at once."

He entered the drawing-room, and Fitzgerald arose from a sofa on which he had seated himself.

"Ah! Fitzgerald!" said Hugo, with assumed indifference.

"Yes, it is I. I have—"

"Hush! I am about to take a walk about the place. You can join me, and whatever you have to say, you can say more freely as we walk."

"Very well, sir; it is immaterial to me."

Hugo took his hat, and the two sauntered along the broad walk till they reached a point at some distance from the mansion.

"Mr. Fitzgerald, what have you got to tell me?" asked Hugo eagerly.

"The boy won't trouble you any more," answered Fitzgerald, sententiously.

"You mean—the circus rider?"

"Certainly; your young cousin."

"Hush!" said Hugo, angerly. "How dare you call him my cousin?"

"Because he was your cousin," said the other firmly. "He stood between you and the property, and that is why you wanted me to put him out of the way."

"I won't discuss that matter just now—I will simply ask you if you mean to assure me that the boy is dead?"

"Yes."

"You can swear it?"

"Of course. He is at the bottom of a well in a distant Western State, unless he has been fished out."

"He must have been very careless to fall in, whoever he was," said Hugo.

"Very much so!" said Fitzgerald mockingly.

"Well," said Hugo, philosophically, "he'd probably have met with a violent death anyway. This bareback riding is dangerous."

"So it is; I saw him thrown from his horse in the ring at Crampton."

"Indeed! Was he hurt?"

"Sprained his ankle—that was all. He had to retire from the ring for the season. Then I offered him an engagement to travel with me to the West."

"Indeed! Very kind of you!" said Hugo, indifferently. "Well, shall we go back to the house?"

"Go back to the house!" repeated Fitzgerald, surprised. "Why, we haven't transacted our business."

"Our business! Why, what business have I with you?"

"I want pay for my work," answered Fitzgerald sharply.

"Your work! Really, I don't remember to have employed you," said Hugo with languid indifference.

"Can he mean to go back on his promise?" Fitzgerald asked himself uncomfortably.

"You promised me $2000 down when I had done this job, and $3000 more when you came into your inheritance," he said quickly.

Hugo, who was a man of consummate meanness, could not bear to part with so large a sum of money. Now that he had obtained all that he desired, and believed that his young cousin, the only possible obstacle between him and his uncle's wealth, was out of the way, he thought he might safely repudiate the bargain, and send off Fitzgerald penniless, or at any rate with a trifle.

"You seem to be dreaming, or romancing," he said coldly.

"Do you mean to say you did not promise me the money?" he demanded passionately.

"I never did; of course not. I have never had any dealings with you."

Fitzgerald clenched his hand together until the nails entered the flesh. Had he committed a detestable crime for nothing?

"Look here, Mr. Hugo Richmond," he said, passionately. "This won't do! You are not going to use me and then throw me off. Pay me this money, or I will report you."

"You had better reflect before you try it," said Hugo, composedly. "I shall accuse you of black-mail, and your charge would never be believed."

"Wouldn't it? You may find yourself bitterly mistaken."

"You must remember that in charging yourself with murder you will run the risk of the hangman's rope. Even if the charge could do me any harm you would probably lose your own life."

This was no doubt true, and Fitzgerald stared at the man who had tempted him to a crime and now threatened him with the consequences while he held back the reward, with stupefaction.

"You see your plan won't work," said Hugo, smoothly.

"I believe you are a fiend incarnate!" exclaimed Fitzgerald, feeling baffled and defeated.

"Really, I don't much care what you think of me."

"Do you mean to send me away penniless?" asked Fitzgerald, hoarsely.

"No, I will take pity on your necessities and give you fifty dollars. I don't recognize any claims you may pretend to have on me, but I will help you so far."

"Give me the fifty dollars, then!" said Fitzgerald, sullenly.

Hugo drew from his wallet five ten-dollar bills, and handed them to his companion.

"Now," said he, "I must wish you good morning. Don't come in my way again!"

As Hugo walked back to the house Fitzgerald looked after him.

"This will prove a bad morning's work for you, Mr. Hugo Richmond!" he muttered.