The miser watched with gleeful exultation the look of dismay which came over the face of his tenant.
Two dollars a week was not only beyond Mrs. Codman's means, but was, at that time, an exorbitant rent for the rooms which she occupied. She would scarcely have been justified in paying it while she had Charlie's earnings as well as her own to depend on. Yet there seemed now an imperative necessity for remaining where she was, for a time at least. It was possible that Charlie would come back, and if she should remove, where would he find her? Of course, he would come back! The thought that there was even a possibility of her son being lost to her was so full of shuddering terror, that Mrs. Codman would not for a moment indulge it. Life without Charlie would be so full of sadness, that she could not believe him lost.
She resolved to make an effort to arouse the old man's compassion. She did not dream of the spite and hatred which he felt towards her. There are none whom the wicked hate so heartily as those whom they have injured. That is something beyond forgiveness.
Mrs. Codman knew that Peter Manson was avaricious, and to this she attributed the increase in the rent. She had no suspicion that he had a particular object in distressing her.
"Surely, Mr. Manson," she remonstrated, "You do not think these rooms worth two dollars a week. It is all we are able to do to raise the rent we now pay."
"Humph!" muttered Peter, avoiding the eye of his tenant, "they are worth all I can get for them."
"Have you raised the rent on the other rooms in this house?"
"No, but I—I shall soon."
"Then I tremble for your tenants. Mr. Manson, if you were poor yourself, perhaps you would have a heart to sympathize with and pity the poor."