ight visitor.

I waited for the old gentleman to come to some conclusion, and although
he was intensely agitated at the thought of an interview, he gave a
token of assent.

"Call off the dog and let him come in," said Fred, "and do you keep in
the background for the present," addressing our guest.

I quieted Rover with a word, and then unbolted and unbarred the door and
threw it open, feeling some curiosity to see the man who had had the
audacity to commit extensive forgeries, and yet escape the punishment of
the law, especially when the criminal code of England is so rigid that
rank or station in life is not respected.

"Well, sleepy heads, have you woke up?" was the impudent question that
first greeted me, and through the door strode a tall, powerful-built
man, with dark whiskers which covered his face almost to his eyelids,
and long, black hair plentifully sprinkled with gray. He wore a short
monkey-jacket, such as sailors are in the habit of adopting as a
convenient overcoat for working aloft on shipboard--a blue flannel
shirt, with large collar turned over and confined to his neck with a
black silk handkerchief--a pair of fancy colored pants, somewhat soiled
and worn, yet a little better than the majority of the miners were
accustomed to wear at Ballarat--and lastly, the visitor had on his head
a felt hat of ample proportions, such as the stockmen and shepherds of
Australia have adopted to protect their heads from the noonday heat, and
eyes from the bright sun, while scouring the plains in search of cattle.

"You are late in your purchases," I remarked, in a conciliatory tone, as
the stranger entered.

"A man with money, and a desire to spend it, can choose his own time to
trade, I suppose, can't he?" the black visitor asked, in a gruff manner;
and as he moved his arm to emphasize his words, I saw the butts of two
pistols protruding from his coat pockets--a discovery that did not alarm
me, although I was glad that their possession was revealed.

"That depends upon two things," I replied. "First, whether--"

"Pshaw! don't bother me with your homilies," he exclaimed, impatiently,
as I closed the door and turned the key.

"No, I won't, for you are homely enough in all conscience," I answered,
pretending to think that he referred to personal beauty.

The stranger turned on me like lightning, and his sinister eyes were
expressive of intense rage, but I pretended not to notice his actions.
Rover, however, beca