IN WHICH ERNEST OBTAINS SOME VALUABLE LETTERS.
"WHAT will they do?" asked Kate, trembling with fear, when I told her my
uncle and Tom had driven off.
"I don't know; that is what I would like to ascertain," I replied,
considering the circumstances which presented themselves. "If they were
going to the same place, they would have taken the same vehicle. It is
about fifteen miles round by the road to Cannondale. I think one of them
must have gone that way. About two miles below, the road lies near the
lake, and I will run down where I can see which of them goes in that
direction."
"I am terribly frightened, Ernest Thornton," said my fair passenger,
after I had headed the Splash in the direction indicated.
"I cannot deny, Kate, that we are both in great danger of being
captured; but I shall do the best I can, and we can only hope that it
will come out right in the end. Tom Thornton will do everything that
mortal man can do to catch us."
"I'm afraid you are doing too much for me, Ernest Thornton. You will get
yourself into trouble," she added, anxiously.
"Don't worry about me, Kate. I think Tom Thornton has a stronger desire
to capture me now than he has you. We are both in the same boat in a
double sense. I will tell you all about it by and by. I must keep my
eyes wide open now. Of course Tom knows you have an uncle in New York."
"I suppose he does."
"Then he will readily understand that you intend to reach him if you
can."
"Mrs. Loraine would think so, I know, for she burned the letter I wrote
to my uncle."
"There goes Tom Thornton's chaise," said I, pointing to the vehicle, as
we reached a part of the lake which commanded a view of the road. "He
has stopped to watch the boat. I know where he is going now, and that's
enough."
"What will you do?" asked Kate, fixing the gaze of her deep-blue eyes
upon me.
"I hardly know. I confess that my plans are not arranged yet, and
everything depends upon circumstances. I am going up to the Institute
now to find Bob Hale, if I can."
"Will that be safe?"
"I think it will. No boat on the lake can catch the Splash in this
breeze; and Bob may be able to help me."
In half an hour we were off the Institute pier; but the recess was over,
and the students were all in the school-room. It was not safe for me to
remain long in this vicinity, for my uncle had by this time reached
Parkville, and had probably employed some one to pursue me. I wrote a
note to Bob with pencil, on a slip of paper I had in my pocket, and
running the Splash up to the pier, sent it to the school-room by one of
the men who was at work in the garden. My friend appeared immediately.
"Come on board, Bob. I have a great deal to say to you, and only a
little time to say it in."
"But it is school time," replied Bob.
"I must not stop here a moment. I am going off, Bob, and may never see
you again, at least not for some time."
"Why, what's up, Ernest?" he asked, as he stepped on board, his scruples
removed by the announcement I had made.
"A great deal has happened since we parted last night," I replied,
pushing off the Splash from the pier.
"How do you do, Miss Loraine?" continued Bob. "I am glad to see you are
still safe."
"I am very well, thanks to Ernest Thornton," she replied.
I headed the boat up the lake towards the cottage again, and proceeded
to tell Bob all that had happened since midnight. He listened in
amazement to my story. I showed him my father's will, which I had not
yet read, and we went through it together.
"It is very plain that they mean to cheat you out of the property your
father left for you," said he.
"That is clear enough. My uncle told me nearly a year ago that my father
left nothing for me."
"It seems that your father died in England," added Bob.
"Yes; in London. This will names my mother as my guardian, and my uncle
Amos as the trustee, to take care of the property, which, it seems, was
all in stocks and bonds. But my uncle says my mother is in an insane
asylum; but whether in England or the United States, I don't know," I
continued, folding up the will.
"I don't see how your uncle did it. It is the most infernal, mean
business I ever heard of," said Bob, indignantly. "But what are you
going to do?"
"I am going to find my mother!"
"How will you find her? Where will you look for her?"
"I don't know," I answered, feeling for the first time that my
information was very insufficient.
"Were there no other papers in the safe?"
"Plenty of them; but I was so agitated I could not examine them."
"But what are you going to do, Ernest?"
"I am going to New York, first; then to Philadelphia, perhaps, where
Tom Thornton lives when he is at home. I may find out something there."
"But how will you get to New York?"
"My plan was to run up the creek, and take the train at the Adieno
station; but Tom Thornton has gone over that way, and I am afraid he
will have somebody stationed there and at Cannondale to stop us. If you
could help me, Bob--"
"Help you! certainly I'll help you!" interposed he, warmly. "What shall
I do?"
"If you could get a team and drive us over to Romer, which is about ten
miles, we could take the train there without danger."
"I'll do it."
"And, Bob, you may tell your father the whole story, and then he won't
blame you," I added, not wishing to get him into a scrape.
"My father is away; but don't worry about me. You are clearly in the
right, and I will do all I can for you, whatever happens to me."
"Thank you, Bob. The time will come when I shall stand on my feet, and
then it will be all right with you."
I ran the Splash up a small creek on the edge of the town, and landed
Bob. He was to procure a horse and covered wagon, and take Kate and
myself at the cottage; for, now that Tom and my uncle were away, it
seemed to be the safest place to land. Besides, I had another object in
view in choosing this locality.
For an hour I cruised about the upper end of the lake, until I saw Bob
wave his handkerchief from the wagon, near the cottage. I ran the Splash
into the mouth of the brook, which was the only place where the water
was deep enough to permit our landing. I lowered the sails, and fastened
the painter to a tree. I directed Kate to run through the grove to the
road, where she would find the wagon, and promised to join her in a few
moments. Trembling with fear, she ran up the hill, and I hastened to the
cottage. My uncle was away, and I was determined to look at the papers
in the safe again, for I was convinced that I could not find my mother
without more information than I possessed.
[Illustration: ERNEST SURPRISED BY HIS UNCLE.--Page 139.]
I went directly to the bay window where I had entered the library
before, and effected an entrance without any difficulty. I found the
key of the safe under the cushion, where I had left it, and opened the
door. Eagerly I seized the pile of papers I had seen before, and began
to examine them. Most of them were unintelligible to me, and apparently
had no connection with my father's affairs; but there were several
letters dated at London, which I thrust into my pocket. I could find
nothing else which promised to be of service to me, and I was about to
close the door, when I discovered a sealed letter lying in a pigeon hole
by itself. I took it from its place, and read the direction: "Robert G.
Bunyard, 47 Old Jewry, Chambers, London."
This letter, I was convinced, would afford me some information; indeed,
the address would give me a clew to what I wanted. I was kneeling on one
knee, with this letter in my hand, when the door of the library suddenly
opened, and my uncle stepped into the room.
"Ernest Thornton!" cried he, in tones so full of terror that they
pierced my soul.
He sprang towards me; but I stepped out of his way, though I was nearly
paralyzed by this unexpected interruption. I thrust the letter into my
pocket, and stood at bay near the window by which I had entered.
"What have you done?" gasped uncle Amos, as he staggered towards me, his
face pale as a sheet, and his limbs trembling in every fibre. "What
papers have you taken?"
"My father's will for one," I replied, almost as much disturbed as he
was.
"O Heaven!" groaned he.
"Uncle Amos, will you tell me now where my mother is?"
"O, Ernest! I am ruined!" exclaimed he, sinking into a chair.
"Will you tell me where my mother is?" I repeated, with all the
earnestness I could command.
"Is this the return you make to me for all my kindness to you?" he
added, in a choking voice. "I have given you all you wanted--boats,
money, everything. Have pity on me, Ernest. I--I shall--I shall go mad!"
"I should think you would," I replied, having in some degree recovered
my self-possession. "You told me my father left nothing for me; that my
mother was in an insane asylum."
"She is, Ernest--she is," said he.
"Where?" I demanded, in a loud, fierce tone.
"I cannot tell you. Where is Thomas? Send for him, and he will make it
all right. You shall have every dollar that belongs to you, Ernest. I am
a miserable wretch; but I did not do this deed for my own sake. Send for
Thomas."
"I have had enough of Thomas. He would cut my throat as readily as he
would turn his hand. Will you tell me where my mother is, or shall I
find her myself?"
"You cannot find her, Ernest. Be calm, and you shall have all. Send for
Thomas."
"I will not send for him. I don't care so much for the money as I do for
my mother. Tell me where she is, or send for her."
"She could not come."
"Then I can go to her."
"Sit down, Ernest, and be calm."
"I'm calm enough. I could forgive you for anything you have done to me.
If you will not tell me where she is, I shall find her myself."
"You cannot find her."
"I can apply to Mr. Robert G. Bunyard--and--"
My uncle sprang to his feet, uttered a cry of agony, and attempted to
stagger towards me; but his legs yielded beneath him, and he sank upon
the floor. He had either fainted or fallen in a fit. I called old
Betsey, and she and I placed him on a sofa. She said he had only
fainted, and wanted to know what had happened. I replied that my uncle
would tell her if he thought best. We bathed his head and rubbed his
temples till he opened his eyes.
"Send for Thomas," said he, feebly.
I was satisfied that he would recover, and being perfectly willing Tom
should be sent for, I told Jerry where he could probably be found. I
then left the house by the front door. My uncle's horse stood at the
hitching-post. He had probably employed some one to follow up the
Splash, and then returned to the house. As I went out, I saw a large
sail-boat standing up the lake, which I concluded was in pursuit of me.
Hastening up the hill, I found Bob greatly alarmed at my long absence.
"I was afraid something had happened to you," said he.
"Drive on, and I will tell you about it," I replied, as I seated myself
in the wagon.