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.
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.