of it this week."

"This may keep off the wolf for a week or two," sighed Mrs.
Wittleworth.

"I shall get into another place soon, mother; don't worry about it."

"But why didn't you take the place when he offered it to you at double
wages, Fitz? It seems to me you are crazy."

"No, I am not crazy. I know what I am about, and Checkynshaw knows what
he is about. What do you suppose induced him to double my salary so
readily?"

"Because he saw how poor we were."

"What does he care for that? There is no more soul in him than there is
in a brickbat, mother. It wouldn't trouble him if you starved to
death--though you are his first wife's sister. That wasn't the reason."

"What was the reason, then, Fitz?" asked she, curiously.

"Checkynshaw is afraid of me," replied Fitz, stopping in his walk up
and down the room, and looking into his mother's face to note the
effect of this startling announcement.

"Afraid of you, Fitz! You are losing your senses!" exclaimed she, with
an expression of strong disgust.

"It's just as I say, mother. He's afraid of me."

"Why should he be afraid of you? You are not so very terrible as to
alarm a man in his position."

"Mother, that block of stores ought to be yours. You should have had
the income of it ever since Checkynshaw came from France with his wife.
I tell you that child died of the cholera, when Mrs. Checkynshaw had
it. That is just as plain to me as the nose on a man's face."

"Nonsense, Fitz! Do you suppose Mr. Checkynshaw would keep me out of it
if it belonged to me?"

"I know he would. I know the man. I haven't been in his office two
years for nothing. I keep my eyes open--_I_ do," answered Fitz, holding
up his head till his neck was stretched to its full length.
"Checkynshaw may be an honest man, as things go; but you can't make me
believe he would give up that block of stores while he could hold on to
it by hook or by crook. He wants me under his thumb, where he can know
what I'm about. He has lost his papers, and he feels nervous about
them. In my opinion, there's something or other among those documents
which would let the light in upon that block of stores. That's why he
is so anxious to find out where they are. That's why he don't care for
the money that was stolen. He knows what he is about, and I know what
I'm about."

"What is the use for us to think anything about the block of stores?
You don't know that little Marguerite died," added Mrs. Wittleworth,