d him twenty-five pounds.

"Yes, twenty-five pounds, Zekle; I'll give you twenty-five," he cried.

"It ain't no use to try and tempt me, Mas'r Mark--it ain't indeed. I
didn't ought to hold my tongue about it. No, I'll go and do my duty."

"But it will nearly drive my father mad," said Penelly imploringly;
while Zekle's little sharp eyes twinkled as their owner wondered whether
his victim could muster twenty-five pounds.

"I'm very sorry, of course," said Zekle; "but you see a man must do his
duty. No, no, Mas'r Mark, you mustn't tempt me."

"I'll get you the money at once, Zekle," said Penelly, who saw that his
visitor was trembling in the balance--that is, he appeared to be; but
Zekle had make up his mind to have twenty-five pounds down before he
entered the house.

"I didn't ought to take it, you know," said Zekle, hesitating.

"But you will, Zekle, and I'll never forget your goodness," said Penelly
imploringly; and then hastily locking the door to make sure that his
visitor did not go, he went out of the room straight to a desk in his
father's office, which he opened with a key of his own, and returned
directly with four five-pound notes and five sovereigns.

"I oughtn't to take this, Mas'r Mark," Zekle grumbled; "it ar'n't my
duty, you know; and I wish you'd give me sov'rins instead of them
notes."

"I cannot," said Penelly sharply. "It has been hard work to get that."

"Then I s'pose I must take them," said Zekle, "but it don't seem like my
duty to;" and as he spoke he carefully wrapped up the notes and placed
them with the gold in his pocket.

"Now, you'll swear you'll never say a word to a soul about this, Zekle."

"Of course I won't, Mas'r Mark. But it goes again the grit. I wouldn't
do it for anyone, you know; but as you say it would be hard on your poor
father, I won't tell."

Penelly bit his lips and said nothing, while Zekle went maundering on
about his duty, and how unwilling he was to take the money, till, seeing
an awkward look in his victim's eyes, he concluded that he had better
go, and went out, turning at the door to tell Penelly that he might be
quite comfortable now, and wishing him good-night.

"Comfortable, you scoundrel!" cried Penelly as soon as he was alone. "I
shall never be comfortable till the news comes in that you have been
lost overboard in a storm. I've been a fool. I was a fool to do such a
thing. I only thought it would give him a ducking; and I'm a greater
fo