Charlie Codman's Cruise. Alger Horatio Jr.

since a visitor had wakened the echoes of the old house; very long since any human being, save Peter himself, had been seated in that room. The old man could not help feeling it to be a strange thing, so unaccustomed was he to the sight of any other human face there.

      "It seems to me," said his visitor, dryly, taking in at a glance all the appointments of the room, "that you don't care much about the luxuries of life."

      "I," said Peter, "I'm obliged to live very plain,—very plain, indeed,—because I am so poor."

      "Poor or not," said the visitor, "you must afford to have a better fire while I am here. I don't approve of freezing."

      He rose without ceremony, and taking half a dozen sticks from the hearth, deposited them in the stove, which now contained only some burning embers.

      "Stay," said Peter, hastily. "Don't put so much on; it's wasteful, and I sha'n't have any left for to-morrow."

      "I'll risk that," said the other, carelessly. "At any rate, it's better to be comfortable one day than to shiver through two."

      The flame caught the wood, which soon blazed up, diffusing an unusually cheerful glow over the apartment. Peter, in spite of the dismay with which he had at first contemplated the sudden movement on the part of his visitor, and the awful consumption of wood which he knew must ensue, nevertheless appeared to enjoy the increased heat. He drew his chair nearer the stove, and an expression of satisfaction was visible in his face as he spread out both hands to catch a little warmth.

      "There, Peter," said the stranger, "I knew you'd like it after it was fairly done. Isn't it worth while to have a good warm fire?"

      "If it didn't cost so much," groaned Peter, the one thought intruding.

      "Hush, Peter; if what people say be true, and as I am inclined to believe, there's no one better able to afford a good fire than you."

      "No one better able!" repeated Peter, at once taking alarm, and lifting up both hands in earnest deprecation, "when I can hardly get enough together to keep from absolute starvation. Oh, it's a strange world, it's a strange world!"

      "Well, Peter, some strange people do live in it, to be sure. But people do say, Peter, that you have a power of money hidden away in this old house somewhere."

      Peter started to his feet in affright, then feeling that his movement might lead to suspicion, sank back into his seat, saying, uneasily, "I only wish it were true. People say such strange things. But it's only idle talk, idle talk. They know better."

      "You'd be very grateful, I have no doubt, to anybody that would show you where all these treasures are that people talk about, wouldn't you, hey?"

      "Ye—Yes," answered Peter Manson, who did not know quite how to understand his companion, whose tone seemed to have a hidden meaning which made him uneasy.

      "And will you give me leave to search the house, if I will promise to give you half the gold I find?"

      "But you wouldn't find any," answered the miser, hastily.

      "Then there would be no harm done. Suppose now I should remove the flooring, just here for instance, don't you think I might possibly find something underneath that would repay me for my search?"

      Unconsciously the speaker had hit upon one of Peter's places of deposit. Directly under where he was seated there was a box of gold coins. Accordingly this remark, which seemed to indicate to Peter some knowledge of his hiding-place, filled him with fearful apprehensions.

      "No, no," said he, vehemently; "go away, there isn't any there. If that is all you have got to say, go away and leave me to my rest. I ought to be in bed; it is getting late."

      "I have something more to say, Peter Manson," returned his companion. "If I had not, I should not have sought you to-night. What I have to say is of great importance to you as you will find. Will you hear it?"

      "Go on," muttered Peter, his attention arrested, in spite of his fears, by the stranger's peculiar tone.

      "First, then, let me tell you a story. It may be real, it may be only fancy. I won't say anything about that. By the way, Peter, were you ever in the West Indies?"

      This question produced a singular effect upon Peter, considering its apparently unimportant character. He started, turned as pale as his ghastly complexion permitted, fixed an anxious glance upon the stranger, who looked as if nothing particular had happened, and said hastily, "No, I was never there. What made you ask?"

      "Nothing particular," said the other, carelessly; "if you were never there, no matter. Only it is there that what I am going to tell you happened. But to my story.

      "Some twenty years ago there lived in the city of Havana an American gentleman, no matter about his name, who had established himself in business in the city. He had married before he went there, and had a daughter about sixteen years of age. Well, his business flourished. Good luck seemed to attend him in all his ventures, and he seemed likely to accumulate enough to retire upon before many years."

      Peter started, and as the story progressed seemed to be internally agitated. A keen glance satisfied his visitor of this; without appearing to notice it, however, he went on,—

      "But things don't always turn out as well as we expect. Just when things looked brightest there came a sudden blow, for which the merchant was unprepared. On going to his counting-room one morning, he discovered that his book-keeper had disappeared, and what was worse, had carried off with him the sum of twenty thousand dollars—a large sum, was it not?"

      "What is all this to me?" demanded Peter, with sudden fierceness.

      "I will tell you by and by," said the stranger, coolly.

      "I will take the liberty to put a little more wood into the stove, and then go on with my story."

      "I—I'll put some in," said Peter.

      He took a small stick about half as large round as his wrist, and opening the stove-door, put it in.

      "That'll do to begin with," said the stranger, following it, to Peter's dismay, with half a dozen larger ones. "Now we'll be comfortable."

      IV.

      A STARTLING QUESTION

      While Peter's uneasiness became every moment more marked, his visitor continued,—

      "This sad defalcation was the more unfortunate because, on that very day notes to a heavy amount became due. Of course the merchant was unable to pay them. Do you know what was the result?"

      "How should I know?" asked Peter, testily, avoiding the gaze of the stranger, and fixing his eyes uneasily upon the fire.

      "Of course you couldn't know, I was foolish to think such a thing."

      "Then what made you think it?" said Peter, in a petulant tone. "I don't care to hear your story. What has it got to do with me?"

      "Don't be in too much of a hurry, and perhaps you will learn quite as soon as you care to. The same result followed, which always does follow when a business man cannot meet his engagements. He failed."

      Peter stirred uneasily, but said nothing.

      "His character for integrity was such that there were many who would have lent him a helping hand, and carried him safely through his troubles; but he was overwhelmed by the blow, and sank under it. Refusing all offers of assistance, he took to his bed, and some six months after died."

      "And what became of his daughter?" asked Peter, showing a little curiosity for the first time.

      "Ha! you seem to be getting interested," exclaimed the other, fixing his keen eyes upon Peter, who seemed confused. "His daughter was beautiful and had already won the heart of a young American, who had little money but a handsome figure and good business habits."

      "Did she marry this young Codman?"

      "Who told you his name was Codman?" asked Peter's visitor, watching him keenly.

      "I—I thought you did," stammered the miser, disconcerted.

      "You are mistaken. I have mentioned no name."

      "Then I—I must have misunderstood