In an iron box the passenger carried his fortune—gold pieces, amounting in all to five hundred thousand dollars.
He kept the box locked up in his chest, which was provided with a patent lock, so arranged that it could not possibly be opened without a great deal of noise.
Occasionally Mr. Manton would go to this chest, and, taking out his money, look at it to see that all was safe. He was by no means either greedy or miserly; but he felt very anxious and careful about this money intended for his beloved child. That his death was not many years distant, he felt sure, as he had long suffered from an incurable complaint of the liver.
This might be detected now in his sallow skin, sunken cheeks, and hollow eyes, as in his room he bent over his box—counting the bright, yellow pieces of gold.
In every other respect, Mr. Manton was a fine looking old gentleman, being broad-shouldered and strong, with long arms, erect form, and piercing glance.
There was upon his face, at present, a look of intense satisfaction, as coin after coin, in hard, shining pieces passed through his hands.
"Ay," he muttered at length, "my girl will never be poor!"
As he spoke, a sudden chill passed through the old man's frame; a shudder as if an ice-bolt had come in contact with his body.
He could not divine the cause; but, had he taken pains to glance quickly behind him, up at a small opening in his door, he would have known that it was the magnetism of the pair of evil-looking eyes there which had chilled his blood.