At the sound of a knock upon the outer door, he sits erect upon his pallet, a look of wild terror in his face: then, recovering himself, he rises slowly and creeps softly toward the door. Wearing now his look of cunning, he removes from a side panel a small pin, that is nicely fitted and comes out noiselessly, and peeps through the aperture thus made. Then, with an exclamation of annoyance, he replaces the pin and hurriedly opens the door. The woman who enters is a fitting mate for him, save that in height and breadth, she is his superior; old and ugly, unkempt and dirty, with a face expressive of quite as much of cunning and greed, and more of boldness and resolution, than his possesses. "It's you, is it?" says the man, testily. "What has brought you back? and empty-handed I'll be bound." The old woman crossed the floor, seated herself in the most reliable chair, and turning her face toward her companion said, sharply: "You're an old fool!" Not at all discomposed by this familiar announcement, the man closed and barred the door, and then approached the woman, who was taking from her pocket a crumpled newspaper. "What have you got there?" "You wait," significantly, "and don't tell _me_ that I come empty-handed." "Ah! you don't mean--" Again the look of terror crossed his face, and he left the sentence unfinished. "Old man, you _are_ a fool! Now, listen: Nance and I had got our bags nearly filled, when I found this," striking the paper with her forefinger. "It blew right under my feet, around a corner. It's the morning paper." "Well, well!" "Oh, you'll hear it soon enough. It's the morning paper, and you know _I_ always read the papers, when I can find 'em, although, since you lost the few brains you was born with, you never look at one." "Umph!" "Well, I looked at this paper, and see what I found!" She held the paper toward him, and pointed to a paragraph among the advertisements. WANTED. INFORMATION OF ANY SORT CONCERNING one Arthur Pearson, who left the mining country with a child in his charge, twenty years ago. Information concerning said child, Lea Ainsworth, or any of her relatives. Compensation for any trouble or time. Address, O. E. MEARS, Atty, Melbourne, Australia. The paper fluttered from the man's nerveless fingers, but the woman caught it as it fell. "Oh, Lord!" he gasped, the drops of perspiration standing out upon his brow, "oh, Lord! it has come at last." "What has come, you old fool!" "Everything; ruin! ruin!" "We're a pretty looking pair to talk of _ruin_," giving a contemptuous glance at her surroundings. "Stop looking so like a scared idiot, and listen to me." "Oh, I'm listening!" sinking down upon the pallet in a dismal huddle; "go on." [Illustration: "Oh, Lord!" he gasped; "oh, Lord, it has come at last!"--page 42.] The woman crossed over and sat down beside him.