IN WHICH ERNEST GETS AN IDEA.
THE knocking at the door of the cottage was continued almost without
intermission. The visitor was evidently endowed with only a small
portion of the necessary virtue of patience, for when he ceased pounding
for an instant, it was only to curse and swear at the heaviness of the
sleepers within. I was sure that old Jerry and Betsey, who slept in the
rear of the house, would not hear the summons, even if the imperative
messenger broke the door down; but I was rather surprised that my uncle,
who, I always supposed, slept with one eye open, if he ever slept at
all, did not answer the call more promptly.
I got out of bed, and looked out at the window, hoping to obtain a sight
of the visitor; but the night was too dark for me to distinguish his
form or features. Again he swore, and again he hammered away at the
door. What they do in New Jersey when it rains is to _let_ it rain; and
what I did when he pounded was to _let_ him pound. I was perfectly
willing he should pound; I even hoped that he enjoyed it. In spite of
the anxiety I felt for poor Kate, I could not help laughing at the
ludicrous earnestness with which he swore and pounded. Like most men, my
uncle was cool when he was not excited; and as there had been nothing on
the present occasion to excite him, I suppose he was cool. Doubtless he
stopped to dress himself before he answered the summons. Very likely the
dread necessity of speaking to the visitor appalled him, and he desired
to postpone the trying ordeal as long as possible.
I am obliged to acknowledge my belief that Mrs. Loraine's messenger was
exceedingly unreasonable, for he did not intermit his hammering long
enough to ascertain whether any one was coming to the door or not. What
was not more than five minutes in fact, might have seemed to be half an
hour to him. Within as short a time as could have been properly
expected, I heard the door of my uncle's library open, and uneasily I
listened for the result. The bolt on the front door creaked and grated.
The door opened with difficulty, and while my uncle was tugging at it, I
lifted the sash of my window a couple of inches, that I might hear what
passed.
The door swung back, and I put my head to the window to catch the first
words that were spoken. Of course my uncle was not the first to utter
them; he seldom spoke, and never was surprised into speaking, even on an
emergency.
"Well, governor," said the messenger, crustily, "you sleep like a rock.
Where is that confounded boy of yours?"
"In bed," replied my uncle.
"Rout him out; I want him," continued the visitor, pushing his way into
the house.
This movement prevented me from hearing what followed immediately; but I
hastened to my door, hoping to catch a word which would enable me to
determine who the person was.
"The young villain has run away with Mrs. Loraine's step-daughter," I
heard him say, as I opened the door wide enough to permit me to catch
the sound. "I tell you, governor, you must get rid of the young
vagabond, or he will swamp the whole of us."
"Hush! he will hear you," said uncle Amos.
"No matter. I have pounded away hard enough to wake the dead. If that
didn't rouse him, nothing will," added the messenger, gruffly.
"Silence!"
"I have had about enough of this thing," continued the rough visitor.
"You insist on keeping the whelp here, when you know he is a bombshell
in your path and mine. Why don't you send him to sea, and let him get
drowned?"
"Be still, Thomas," replied my uncle, in a whisper.
"I won't be still, governor. The vagabond has run away with that girl,
and--"
They passed into the dining-room, and I could not hear the rest of the
sentence. The visitor was Tom Thornton, for my uncle called him Thomas.
I was a vagabond, and a bombshell in the path of both of them. Tom
called my uncle "governor," and this indicated that he was his son. I
half suspected this before, but it was news to me to learn that I was
regarded as a dangerous young man. Why was I dangerous? I had not done
anything to imperil the life or the fortunes of either of them.
My uncle would not tell me anything about my father, or my mother, save
that the latter was insane and the inmate of an asylum. Now, Tom
objected because I had not been sent to sea to be drowned! They were
talking about me down stairs, and I slipped on my pants, and crept down
the stairs. I found that they had entered my uncle's library, and the
spring lock on the door had fastened it. I listened, but I could not
distinguish what was said.
I was determined not to be balked in my purpose, for this was an
opportunity which might not occur again for years to obtain some clew to
my own affairs. In fact, I had resolutely resolved to SEEK AND FIND my
mother, who was still living; and I wanted information.
The library of my uncle was contained in an addition to the house which
had been erected after the completion of the original structure. It was
on the end of the house, and could be reached only through his chamber.
The roof was flat, and covered with tin plates. On the side fronting
the lake there was a bay window. The middle sash was generally open at
the top in warm weather, as I had no doubt it was at the present time.
I stole softly up stairs to my chamber, from which one of the windows
opened upon the flat roof over the library. I raised this window, and
crawled like a cat over to the bay window, the top of which was
considerably lower than the roof. Lying down on the projection, I placed
my head near the top of the window. I was rejoiced to find that I could
hear the voices of the occupants of the room below me. More than this, a
lucky thought, as I regarded it, occurred to me as I lay there. The
window was pulled down at the top, and I found that I could get into the
room almost as easily as I could stay out. I deemed this an important
discovery, for I fully intended, at the first convenient opportunity, to
explore the library. Though the thought came to me, I did not follow out
its leading at this time.
"How can I get rid of him?" demanded uncle Amos, as I placed my head
near the open sash; and it was evident that the parties had made some
progress in the discussion while I was securing my position.
"Send him off. I can find a place for him in a store in New Orleans,
where the yellow fever will make an end of him," replied Tom.
"Thomas, I will not harm him. I don't want to kill him," added uncle
Amos.
"Of course you don't want to kill him--let the fever do that. Let him go
away, and lose the run of you. Something must be done at once. He is a
smart boy, they say, and if he should happen to get an idea, he would
blow you and me so high that we never should come down."
That was an idea, and I happened to get it.
"My son, I have stained my soul with crime for your sake," added my
uncle, bitterly. "We have wronged this boy enough. I will not have him
injured."
"I don't wish to injure him, only to get him out of the way, so that he
will lose the run of you," replied Tom, petulantly. "He don't know
anything about me."
"Don't flatter yourself, Tom Thornton," I thought, but did not say.
"I am willing to do anything proper to be done with him. He will
graduate soon at the Institute, and we must find a place for him in some
business," said uncle Amos.
"I will find a situation for him in New Orleans."
"Not to take his life."
"No, no; certainly not. I know of a firm there that wants a young man
from the north, and you must send him off in the course of a week. Now,
what has the villain done with that girl?"
"I don't know; he has not brought her here," answered my uncle.
"What has he done with her? There was a young fellow with him; do you
know who he was?"
"Probably the Hale boy. They run together."
"What could they have done with the girl?"
"I don't know. What motive had they for carrying her off?"
"Out of pity I suppose. Kate is a careless girl, wilful, and
disobedient. She objects to being shut up in her chamber for her
misdemeanors."
Tom Thornton related the incident in which Bob and I had been concerned
on the pier.
"The child must have been badly abused, or she would not have jumped
into the lake," said uncle Amos, when he had heard the story.
"It does not concern you or me whether she has been or not. I fancy the
girl is not of much use to any one."
"Why do you run after her, then?"
"What's the use of arguing the question. Mrs. Loraine wishes me to find
the girl, and return her; and I'm going to do it, if I have to choke
your smart boy to get at it. Where is he?"
"In his chamber; but you must not harm him," replied uncle Amos,
nervously. "He is as high-spirited as his father was."
"What do I care for that? He must tell me where the girl is."
"Perhaps he will not be willing to tell you."
"Then I shall make him do so," added Tom, savagely; and it seemed to me
he was getting up a very pleasant prospect for me.
"You must handle him very carefully," said my uncle, nervously.
"If he tells me where the girl is, that's all I want of him. If he
don't, I shall--I shall crush it out of him. He will find I am not made
of milk and water."
"You will find I am not, either," I said to myself, as, when Tom moved
towards the door, I rose from my recumbent posture, and hastened back to
my chamber.
I slipped off my pants, and got into bed again, that I might not be
suspected of having left it. I had scarcely done so before Tom entered
my room with a lamp in his hand. I opened my eyes, rubbed them, and
stared at him.
"I want to see you, youngster," he began. "I suppose you don't know me.
My name is Jones."
"If your name is Jones, my name is Smith," I replied, with gross
imprudence.
He looked at me, and appeared to be startled by my sharp and reckless
reply. Very likely he thought me as smart as my reputation.
"Your name is Thornton," said he.
"So is yours," I answered; and I couldn't help it.
He stared at me again. Perhaps he concluded that I had obtained my
information of Kate Loraine, and he knew that I had seen him at her
step-mother's house.
"What have you done with that girl?" demanded he.
"Hold on a moment till I dress myself," I replied, as I jumped out of
bed, and began to put on my clothes.