CHAPTER XXIII. A STARTLING APPEARANCE.
Paul Morton was sitting in his library, carelessly scanning the daily paper. He no longer wore the troubled expression of a few weeks before. He had succeeded in weathering the storm that threatened his business prospects by the timely aid afforded by a portion of his ward's property, and now his affairs were proceeding prosperously.
It may be asked how with such a crime upon his soul he could experience any degree of comfort or satisfaction. But this is a problem we cannot explain. Probably his soul was so blunted to all the best feelings of our common nature that he was effected only by that which selfishly affected his own interest.
"At last I am in a secure position," he said to himself. "Then the opportune death of my ward, of which I am advised by Cromwell, gives me his large estate. With this to fall back upon, and my business righted, I do not see why I should not look forward in a few years to half-a-million."
He was indulging in these satisfactory reflections when the door opened, and a servant entered.
"A gentleman to see you," she said.
"Who is it?" asked Mr. Morton.
"I think it is the same one that called several times about the time of Mr. Raymond's funeral."
"Cromwell!" repeated Mr. Morton. "Show him up," he said.