hare it with me: so make me out a good heavy
cheque, and say no more about it."

"What do you call a heavy cheque?" asked Stevens, in a despairing tone.

"Five or six thousand," coolly answered his visitor.

"Five or six thousand!" echoed Mr. Stevens, "it is impossible."

"It had better not be," said McCloskey, looking angry; "it had better not
be--I'm determined not to be leading a beggar's life, and you to be a
rolling in wealth."

"I can't give it, and won't give it--if it must come to that," answered
Stevens, desperately. "It is you that have the fortune--I am only your
banker at this rate. I can't give it to you--I haven't got that much
money."

"You must find it then, and pretty quick at that," said McCloskey. "I'm not
to be fooled with--I came here for money, and I must and will have it."

"I am willing to do what is reasonable," rejoined Mr. Stevens, in a more
subdued tone. "You talk of thousands as most men do of hundreds. I really
haven't got it."

"Oh, bother such stuff as that," interrupted McCloskey, incredulously. "I
don't believe a word of it--I've asked them that know, and every one says
you've made a mint of money by speculation--that since ye sold out in the
South and came here to live, there's no end to the money ye've made; so you
see it don't do to be making a poor mouth to me. I've come here for a check
for five thousand dollars, and shan't go away without it," concluded he, in
a loud and threatening tone.

During this conversation, Lizzie Stevens had been standing at the door,
momentarily expecting a recall to the apartment. She heard the low rumble
of their voices, but could not distinguish words. At length, hearing
McCloskey's raised to a higher key, she could no longer restrain her
impatience, and gently opening the door, looked into the room. Both their
faces were turned in the opposite direction, so that neither noticed the
gentle intrusion of Lizzie, who, fearing to leave her father longer alone,
ventured into the apartment.

"You need not stand looking at me in that threatening manner. You may do as
you please--go tell what you like; but remember, when I fall, so do you; I
have not forgotten that affair in Philadelphia from which I saved
you--don't place me in a situation that will compel me to recur to it to
your disadvantage." "Ah, don't trouble yerself about that, squire; I
don't--that is entirely off my mind; for now Whitticar is dead, where is
yer witnesses?"

"Whitticar d