"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."