"What do you wish me to do, governor?" demanded the reckless son. "I send you all the money you want."
"It is not money, but a clear conscience, that I need," groaned the wretched old man. "I would rather live in abject poverty than purchase plenty at such a fearful price."
"Don't be foolish, governor."
"I live in constant fear of the boy, especially since he questioned me, months ago, about his parents and his property."
"Of course you told him he had no property."
"I did."
"Then it's all right. In the course of a week we will send him to New Orleans. When he has gone you can change your residence, and he will lose the track of you."
"Perhaps he will not be willing to go to New Orleans; he certainly will not under such treatment as you bestow upon him. Thomas, my brother's will—"
My uncle paused and looked at his son, as though in doubt whether to finish the sentence he had begun.
"Well, what of the will?" demanded Tom, evincing more interest than he had before exhibited. "Of course you destroyed that years ago?"