Under these circumstances, Peg bethought herself of the ultimate object which she had proposed to herself in kidnapping Ida—­that of extorting money from a man who is now to be introduced to the reader.

John Somerville occupied a suite of apartments in a handsome lodging-house on Walnut Street.  A man wanting yet several years of forty, he looked a greater age.  Late hours and dissipation, though kept within respectable limits, had left their traces on his face.  At twenty-one he inherited a considerable fortune, which, combined with some professional practice (for he was a lawyer, and not without ability), was quite sufficient to support him handsomely, and leave a considerable surplus every year.  But, latterly, he had contracted a passion for gaming, and however shrewd he might be naturally, he could hardly be expected to prove a match for the wily habitues of the gaming-table, who had marked him as their prey.

The evening before he is introduced to the reader’s notice he had, passed till a late hour at a fashionable gambling-house, where he had lost heavily.  His reflections, on awakening, were not of the pleasantest.  For the first time, within fifteen years, he realized the folly and imprudence of the course he had pursued.  The evening previous he had lost a thousand dollars, for which he had given his I O U. Where to raise this money, he did not know.  He bathed his aching head, and cursed his ill luck, in no measured terms.  After making his toilet, he rang the bell, and ordered breakfast.

For this he had but scanty appetite.  Scarcely had he finished, and directed the removal of the dishes, than the servant entered to announce a visitor.

“Is it a gentleman?” he inquired, hastily, fearing it might be a creditor.  He occasionally had such visitors.

“No, sir.”

“A lady?”

“No, sir.”

“A child?  But what could a child want of me?”

“If it’s neither a gentleman, lady, nor child,” said Somerville, somewhat surprised, “will you have the goodness to inform me who it is?”

“It’s a woman, sir,” said the servant, grinning.

“Why didn’t you say so when I asked you?” said his employer, irritably.

“Because you asked if it was a lady, and this isn’t—­at least she don’t look like one.”

“You can send her up, whoever she is,” said Mr. Somerville.

A moment afterwards Peg entered the apartment.

John Somerville looked at her without much interest, supposing that she might be a seamstress, or laundress, or some applicant for charity.  So many years had passed since he had met with this woman, that she had passed out of his remembrance.

“Do you wish to see me about anything?” he asked, indifferently.  “If so, you must be quick, for I am just going out.”

“You don’t seem to recognize me, Mr. Somerville,” said Peg, fixing her keen black eyes upon his face.