TOM THORNTON was no fool, and it was easy enough for him to see that I understood the situation. It was useless for him to tell me that any tenderness on the part of my uncle saved me from arrest, for the son would have crushed me like a worm beneath his feet in spite of the father. I think he got up and left me because he could not control his temper, and feared a scene. He cooled off in a few moments, and came back, as I knew he would.
"You defy me to arrest you—do you, Ernest?" said he, dropping into the seat at my side.
"Yes; if you wish to put it in that form, I defy you to arrest me. I repeat that I should be very glad to have you do it."
"Why so?" asked he, nervously.
"It would give me a chance to defend myself, and that is just what I want, now I have the means to do so."
"You have some queer conceits, young man," sneered he. "What have you done with that girl?"
"She is safe."
"I asked you what you had done with her."
"And I didn't answer you."
"What have you done with her?"
"She is safe."
"Running away with her is another criminal offence."
"If it is, I shall fight that battle on the same ground with the other. If you choose to take me back to Parkville on any charge, of course you can do so. If you do, a certain document will be brought to light, which will convince Mrs. Loraine and everybody else, that Mr. Tom Thornton, with his gold watch and chain, his span of bays, and his fine clothes, isn't worth a dollar in the world."
Tom's lip actually quivered.
"I don't want to injure you, Ernest," said he."Your uncle is not willing that you should be brought to justice."
"I have no desire to bring him to justice, either."
"You talk like a fool, like a small boy," said he, impatiently.
"Then don't talk with me."
"You will make out that you haven't done anything wrong yourself, but your friends have made a martyr of you. When I offer to get you out of the scrape into which you have plunged, you speak just as though you were the injured party."
"Exactly so, and I speak just what I mean. You talk to me just as though you and your father had not suppressed my father's will, intending to rob me of my inheritance, and kept my mother in a madhouse for ten or a dozen years."
"What sort of bosh are you talking now?" demanded Tom, with an effort, while his face was pale, and his frame trembled.
"I can prove it all. If you and your father wish to tell me where my mother is, and to make terms you can tell me what you will do," I added, following up my advantage.
"You have taken some ridiculous notion into your head, and I really don't know what you are talking about."
"Did you ever read my father's will?"
"Your father's will!" exclaimed he. "I never heard that he made a will. If he did, it was the most ridiculous thing he ever did in the whole course of his life, for he hadn't a penny to leave."
"Perhaps you can tell me why my uncle so persistently refused to tell me anything about my father or my mother?"
"I certainly can if you insist upon it; though, having more regard for you than you have for yourself, I should prefer to follow your uncle's example, and not say anything about them."
"I will not ask you to spare my feelings, Mr. Tom Thornton. Your father went so far, when I insisted upon it, as to tell me that my mother was insane."
"She is, poor woman, and I don't wonder that her reason was dethroned," replied Tom, whose face brightened up wonderfully as he spoke.
"He refused to tell me anything about my father."
"Which was very kind of him. Your uncle is astrange man; but his greatest weakness is his regard for you. It is best you should know nothing of your father; but if you wish to know, I'll tell you."
"I do wish to know."
"He committed a forgery in London, and died in Newgate before his trial took place. Your poor mother was so grieved that it made her insane. Now you know the whole truth, and you can understand why your uncle did not wish to talk to you about your father."
I confess that I was rather startled by this explanation, and I could not help asking myself if there was any truth in it. It certainly accounted for my uncle's unwillingness to tell me anything about my parents. But I would not believe it. It was treachery to my father's memory to do so.
"Did he make his will in Newgate?" I asked.
"His will! What will? I have told you he had not a penny in the world. Your uncle has ever since paid your mother's board in the insane asylum."
"That is very kind of him. Can you tell me where she is?"
"I don't know."
"I suppose not; and probably it would not be convenient for you to tell if you did."
"I would tell you if I knew. If you desire it, I will persuade your uncle to tell you. You keep talking about a will. What do you mean by it?"
"I found such a document in my uncle's strong box."
"Where is it?"
"It is safe."
"If there is any such document it is a mere fiction. I don't know anything about it."
"You don't?"
"No."
"All right."
"What do you mean?"
"Nothing."
"Of course when you speak of a will, you mean something by it," persisted Tom.
"It's no use to talk."
"Why not?"
"Because the truth isn't in you."
"I speak the exact truth."
"No—you don't."
"But I do."
"You know all about the will. I heard my uncle speak to you about it; and I heard you ask if it was not destroyed. You asked for it, and wanted to burn it then. Don't you know anything about it now?"
"You heard all this?" said he, biting his lips.
"I heard it."
"You dreamed it."
"No, I didn't dream it. I heard a great deal more than this. You wanted to destroy the will; but your father said he dared not do it."
"Pray, where were you, when you heard all this?"
"On the top of the bay window of the library. The upper sash was pulled down, so as to let the air in."
"Then you are an eaves-dropper as well as a thief."
"I was on the eaves of the bay window, and I dropped down about the time you went up stairs to look for me. Now you know all about it—and so do I. You may tell me my father died in Newgate, and that you never heard of any will. I shall believejust as much of it as I please, and no more. You think I'm a boy, Mr. Tom Thornton; but I've got brains enough to know chalk from cheese."
Tom wiped his forehead. He did not like my style; but he could not do anything. He dared not take any decided step. After observing the feebleness of his position, I made up my mind that I had won the victory. He was afraid to arrest me, and I felt as safe as though I had been in London then. But there was one more point I wanted to impress upon him.
"I have no doubt, Ernest, that you have some paper which you think is valuable; something which has the form of a will," said Tom, after he had fidgeted about in his seat for some time.
"It has that form," I replied.
"I should like to know what the paper is. Where is it?"
"No matter where it is. I know its value, and I have put it where, the moment you take your first step against me, you will find it lying like a big snake in your path."
"Won't you let me see it?"
"No."
"I only want to know what it is. You need not let it go out of your own hands."
"I won't show it."
I had made my point. I had assured him the will would be forthcoming when he took any step to annoy me. Tom tried all sorts of persuasion to induce me to exhibit it; but without denying that I had it, I declined to produce it. He was so weak that I began to despise him. At last he got mad, and threatened me with all sorts of calamities. I told him, when he became abusive, that I would not talk any more with him, and abruptly left him.
Most of all, I desired to shake him off and get rid of him. While he was watching me, I could not convey Kate to her uncle, and I was puzzled to know what I should do. When the steamer arrived at New York, Tom would keep both eyes fixed upon me, and I should have no chance to assist my fair companion. I walked about the boat, and thought the matter over; but the more I considered it, the more unsatisfactory it seemed.
About one o'clock the steamer made a landing atPoughkeepsie. I went down to the main deck, from which the gangway planks led to the wharf. I found Tom Thornton there, apparently for the purpose of assuring himself that I did not take "French leave" of him, which was just the thing I intended to do, if it could be done without his notice. I went forward, but found that the stern of the boat was swung in, so that the forward gangway was twenty feet from the pier.
THE ESCAPE DEFEATED.—Page 187.THE ESCAPE DEFEATED.—Page 187.
Returning to the saloon deck, I carefully examined the position of the boat in regard to the shore. I went out upon the space over the guards, and outside of the state-rooms. On the edge of the wharf there was a storehouse, the end of which reached about to the middle of the steamer's wheel. The top of the paddle-box was nearly on a level with the flat roof of this building. I could not see Tom Thornton, but I concluded that he was still watching for me on the main deck. The space between the top of the paddle-box and the roof of the storehouse was not more than three or four feet, and I concluded that a girl as resolute as Kate Loraine would leap across the gulf without difficulty. I wentto her state-room, and gave the four raps. She was glad enough to see me, and taking her valise I told her to follow me. I waited till I heard the order given to haul in the plank, and then led Kate up the rude steps on the curve of the paddle-box, heedless of the sign which interdicted passengers from ascending.
A waiter shouted to me; but, fearful that I should be accused of trying to evade the payment of our fares, I threw him my tickets, and told him I must land at Poughkeepsie. I reached the top of the paddle-box with Kate, and jumped over on the roof myself, with her carpet-bag in my hand.
"Now jump, Kate!" I called, as I heard the bell ring to start the wheels.
"I am afraid," she replied, shuddering, as she looked down into the yawning gulf below.
"Jump quick, and I will catch you!"
"I cannot! I cannot!" exclaimed she, in an agony of terror.
The wheels turned, and in an instant the space was too wide for her to come on the roof, or for me to return to the boat. The people discovered us,and began to shout. I saw the waiter give the tickets to a man; but, at the same instant, Tom Thornton, perceiving me on the roof of the storehouse, sprang upon the rail, and leaped ashore, as the stern swung in and grazed the pier. The steamer went on her course; and I saw the man to whom the waiter had given the tickets assist the frightened Kate down from the paddle-box.
I was on shore, but so was Tom Thornton.
MY first impulse, standing on the roof of the store, as the steamer bore Kate Loraine away from me, was to denounce the timidity of girls in general, and of the young lady in my charge in particular. I am sorry to say that, as a rule, I did not think much of girls, though I had a very high opinion of and regard for Kate; but I am happy to say that a few years cured the general dislike, and increased the particular preference.
I was about to mutter something smart and saucy about Kate; but a better and more charitable thought checked the speech, and I felt that I had asked too much of her when I required her to jump four feet, over a chasm of such depth as that which gaped between the steamer and the building. I suppose I forgot, in my enthusiasm for her safety, that girlsare not used to climbing trees, and promenading on the roofs of barns. With my second thought I excused her, and blamed myself for expecting her to take such a leap.
There I was on the roof of a storehouse in Poughkeepsie, while the steamer was hurrying down the river at the rate of fourteen miles an hour. If I had separated myself from my fair charge, I had also separated Tom Thornton from her. The enemy was on my track, not hers, thus confirming what I had told Kate—that he was after me rather than her. Though I was not afraid of him, I wanted to keep out of his way, and give him the slip if I could.
There was a scuttle in the roof, upon which I stood. I raised it a little, to obtain a view of the interior; but at that moment I heard the voice of Tom inquiring the way to the roof. While I had been staring at the retreating steamer, he had entered the building in search of me. I closed the scuttle, and retired from its vicinity to the end of the storehouse. Adjoining it there was a one-story building. Throwing the carpet-bag down, I "hungoff," and, repeating the operation, reached the ground before Tom had made his way to the roof. Fortunately my path led me down in the rear of the building, and out of the way of the people, who had been observing me from the ground. Behind this building I conducted my retreat in as good order as possible, but with all practicable speed.
The road which led down to the steamboat pier was flanked on one side by a row of one-story buildings, used as stores. I had jumped on one of these shops, and thence to a narrow space on the verge of the wharf. Before any one could go round the storehouse, I had reached the street. I did not dare to run, lest some one should suspect me of being a fugitive. The street was crowded with people, who had just landed from the steamer, and I walked as fast as I could till I heard the screaming whistle of a locomotive. In a few moments more I discovered the railroad station, and being now some distance from the steamboat wharf, I ventured to run. I reached the station just as the train was starting.
"Where does this train go?" I asked of a brakeman on a car.
"Down river. Be in a hurry if you are going," replied the man.
I was going, and I was in a hurry. I entered the car and dropped into a seat, exhausted by the hard run I had had. I caught my breath, and wiped the perspiration from my brow, feeling that good fortune had favored me in the most singular manner. I had certainly given Tom Thornton the slip, and in spite of my habitual modesty, I voted unanimously that I was smart. But it was all luck, in this instance, which favored me; for I heard some one say that the train was thirty minutes late that day. It was due in Poughkeepsie at ten minutes before one, and left half an hour behind its time. If it had been in season, of course I should have lost it. I was very thankful for the accident which, the conductor said, had delayed the train.
From the car window I had frequent views of the river; and in a short time I saw the steamer in which I had come down, ploughing her way downthe stream to her destination. I could almost fancy I saw Kate on the hurricane deck. The poor girl had trouble enough now, and I had no doubt she was bitterly lamenting the misfortune which had separated us. On whirled the train, and I soon lost sight of the boat; but I hoped to be able to get on board of her at her next stopping-place, if I could find where that was. I inquired of a gentleman who sat in front of me at what places the steamers stopped. He informed me that some of them stopped at all the towns, but the larger of them at only the principal ones. I mentioned the steamer on which I had been a passenger, and he assured me she would make a landing at Peekskill.
In about an hour the train arrived at this place, and I hastened to the river; but I was obliged to wait over an hour before the steamer appeared. She came up to the pier, and I went on board. I was immediately recognized by a dozen persons who had seen me on the roof of the storehouse. They wanted to ask me some questions; but I avoided them, and rushed up to the saloon. I inquired of the stewardess for Kate, and was told that she wasin her state-room. I gave the four raps, and she opened the door.
"Why, Ernest Thornton!" exclaimed she. "Where did you come from?"
"From up the river," I replied.
The inquisitive passengers had followed me to the state-room, and I was obliged to go in and shut the door in order to avoid them. I saw by the looks of Kate's eyes that she had been crying. Our sudden and unexpected separation had been even a greater trial to her than I had supposed, and her smile was now so full of joy that I never felt happier before in my life.
"I was sure I had lost you, Ernest Thornton. Why, how can it be that you are here, when you were left on the wharf more than two hours ago?" said she, bewildered by my presence, for our reunion was quite as unexpected as the separation had been.
"It is very easily explained, Kate," I replied, with abundant good-nature. "I hope you have not been crying."
"But I have. I never felt so bad before in my life. I believed I had lost the last friend I had inthe world, for I was afraid that horrible Tom Thornton would kill you, or do something almost as bad. But you don't explain how you happen to be here. Did you fly?"
"No; I came in the train, which happened to be half an hour late for my especial accommodation;" and I related my story in full.
"I am sorry I didn't jump when you told me to do so," said she, when I had finished. "I ought to have jumped, even if I had been sure of falling into the river."
"I ought not to have asked you to take such a leap, Kate; and it is very fortunate that you had not the courage to do it, for Tom Thornton would have been with us. It couldn't have happened any better even if we had planned it ourselves. Who was the man that helped you down from the paddle-box? What did the people say to you? Did you tell them anything?"
"I did tell them, Ernest Thornton. I hope I haven't done anything wrong," she replied, a sudden shade of anxiety passing over her features.
"It will do no harm."
"The man that helped me down was the steward, they said. Indeed, he was very kind to me, and so were all the people. Half a dozen of them promised to take care of me when I reached New York, and help me find my uncle. They wanted to know who you were, and why the gentleman wanted to catch you."
"What did you tell them?" I asked, rather fearful that she had told more than I cared to have the public know about my affairs.
"I told them the truth; that I had been ill-used by a person, and that you were taking me to my uncle in New York."
"Did you tell them who Tom Thornton was?"
"I only said he had been sent after me. The steward thought he must have supposed I was on the building when he jumped ashore. I didn't tell them anything about your troubles. I didn't know that you would wish me to do so."
"I am glad you did not. But, Kate, you needn't stay in here any longer. We have got rid of Tom Thornton, and you may go out and look at the scenery, if you wish. Have you been to dinner?"
"Yes, the steward gave me some dinner. He was very good to me, and I want to thank him ever so much for his kindness."
When we left the state-room, we were surrounded by the curious passengers, and I was obliged to tell them the adventures I had gone through with. I left Kate with a lady and gentleman who manifested an interest in her, and went down to my dinner, and when I paid for it I paid for Kate's also. When I went on deck, I found that I was a lion, and the passengers insisted upon hearing me roar. They asked questions with Yankee pertinacity, and I finally told a select party of them that I had taken Kate out of her step-mother's house by the way of the attic window, but I was careful not to call any names, for if Mrs. Loraine behaved herself, I did not care to expose her to the public.
"You are a smart young man," said an elderly gentleman, heartily. "Does your father live in this State?"
"I have no father, sir," I replied; and I had dodged a dozen similar questions before.
"No father. I suppose you live with your mother," he added, with the evident intention of drawing me out.
"No, sir. My mother is in England, where I hope soon to join her."
"Ah, in England!" he added, with increasing interest. "In what part does she reside?"
"I do not yet know."
Perhaps he thought it was very odd I should not know.
"I am going to England by the steamer next Wednesday," continued the gentleman. "If I can serve you there, it would give me great pleasure to do so."
"Thank you, sir;" and I began to feel a deep interest in the subject myself.
"You don't know in what part of England your mother resides, then?"
"I do not, but it is somewhere near London."
It was my turn to ask questions now; and I was glad to do so, in order to save myself from being "pumped." I made a great many inquiriesabout the steamer, the expense, bills of exchange, and other matters, and the gentleman gave me much valuable information. He left the boat at Yonkers, but told me he should be in New York on Monday. He gave me his address when in the city, and I promised to call upon him if I could.
IT was after four o'clock on Saturday afternoon when the steamer arrived at her wharf in New York. The lady and gentleman who had taken so much interest in Kate were anxious to do something to assist her. They were not what is called "stylish" people, and they did not put on any airs. The gentleman was a well-to-do farmer in the western part of the state, and his wife doubtless superintended the making of the butter when she was at home. They were fifty years old, with only one child, a grown-up son; and the lady, the moment she heard that Kate had been ill-treated, proposed to take her home and "do" for her.
In the course of the afternoon Kate mentioned this offer to me, and declared that she liked the lady and gentleman very much indeed. She did not yetknow whether her uncle would receive her into his family. If he was unwilling to come between her and her step-mother, Kate was determined to go home with the farmer, whose name was Macombe. The worthy couple really hoped that her uncle would not take her. I found they were going to remain in New York for a week. They intended to stay at a small hotel in the lower part of the city, and I promptly adopted their suggestion to go with them.
Annoying to me, and disagreeable to Kate, as was the publicity to which we had both been exposed by the events of the day, I could not help acknowledging that we had been the gainers by it. The interest excited by my singular conduct, and the sympathy called forth by her helpless condition after we were separated, made many friends for us. I had dreaded the disagreeable necessity of going to a hotel or a boarding-house with Kate, to be stared at, questioned, and suspected, because we were so young; but now the difficulty was entirely removed. We could go to a public house in the train of Mr. Macombe and his lady, and would appear to be a part of his family.
Besides this manifest advantage, I had learned all about the steamers that went to England, and had actually made the acquaintance of a gentleman who was going to London, and who was quite willing to be my friend. If Tom Thornton would keep out of my path till the following Wednesday, I should embark in the steamer, and be on my way across the ocean to find my mother.
Half a dozen people offered to assist Kate, when the boat hauled in at her wharf, and the steward was all kindness and attention. We took a carriage, and drove to the hotel, whose name I have forgotten; but the window of my chamber looked out upon the Battery. As soon as we were comfortably installed in our several apartments, I went to the office and found a Directory. It contained the names of four men whose surname was Loraine. I looked a few years later and there was not a single one. Two of them were merchants, one was a broker, and one was a mason. Nothing was to be learned from their occupation, and as it was too late to find the owners of the names and their places of business that day, I was obliged to defer the search till Monday.
I had left my uncle's without any clothing except that which I wore; and if I was not in absolute need yet of an additional wardrobe, I knew enough of the world to believe that a quantity of baggage adds to a person's respectability, especially at the hotels. I walked up Broadway, and purchased a good-sized valise, a strong and serviceable article, which would contain all I should need in my travels. At a clothing store I bought a good every-day suit, for that I wore was a very nice one—too good for comfort in travelling. At a furnishing store I procured a supply of shirts, collars, and handkerchiefs. When I had packed all these articles in my valise, I felt quite respectable.
As I was walking back to the hotel, I saw in the window of a shop an article which was labelled "money-belt." It was a kind of pocket-book, made of wash-leather, attached to a belt to be worn round the body. I went in and bought one; and it seemed to solve the problem about the care of the large sum of money in my possession, which had been a great trouble to me. I could carry my funds in this belt without the danger of being robbed; and as soon as I reached my room, I enclosed in a piece of oiledsilk the greater part of the bills which I had carried in my breast pocket, rolled up in a piece of newspaper, put them in the money-belt, and strapped it around me. It did not feel comfortable at first; but the very annoyance it caused served to remind me that my money was safe.
Mr. and Mrs. Macombe were very good, pious people, and, wherever they were, would as soon have thought of going without their food, as of staying away from divine service; and we went to church with them three times on Sunday. They would not even talk about worldly affairs on that day; and Kate and I were probably saved from answering a great many questions included under the head of forbidden topics. They seemed to be greatly pleased to know that I regularly attended the Sunday school at home. So pure, and true, and good were they, and so much interested in me, that I wanted to tell them all about my own affairs, and to ask them whether I had done wrong in taking the will and the money from my uncle's safe; but I concluded that for the present it would be safer for me to keep my own counsels. They were excellent people,but their very simplicity of character might lead them to betray and injure me.
On Monday forenoon, leaving Kate with Mrs. Macombe, while her husband was attending to his business affairs, I went in search of the four persons by the name of Loraine. I had written down the address of each, and obtained from Kate all the information she possessed in regard to her father. I decided to try one of the merchants first; and as Mrs. Loraine doubtless knew the name of her deceased husband's brother, I half expected to meet Tom Thornton blockading the door of the uncle's counting-room.
When I saw, on the opposite side of the street, the sign "Mortimer Loraine & Co.," I made sure that Tom Thornton was not in sight, and then went in. I was directed to the private office of the senior partner. He was a cold, stiff, formal man, and eyed me from head to foot with a kind of contempt which I did not appreciate.
"Your business with me, young man?" demanded he, in cast-iron tones.
According to Parkville etiquette, he ought to haveasked me to sit down, and I was waiting for him to do so.
"I called to ask, sir, if you ever had a brother by the name of Austin Loraine," I replied.
"No, sir," answered he, gruffly.
"Excuse me for troubling you, then, sir," I added, bowing and retreating.
"Who was Austin Loraine?" he demanded.
"It's of no consequence, sir, if he was not your brother," I replied, still retreating.
"What is your business with him?" he added.
What my business was did not concern him, and I opened the door and retired. Mr. Mortimer Loraine rose from his stuffed chair and followed me, repeating the question he had put to me. I simply told him I wished to find the brother of Austin Loraine; and in my heart I was very grateful that he was not the person, for I should have been afraid to leave Kate in the keeping of such a cast-iron man as he was. He appeared to think he had a monopoly of the name of Loraine, and no one else ought to possess it, or to have relations with it which he was not permitted to know. Giving no further heed to him, I left his store.
My next attempt was with the broker, William, whose office was in Wall Street. He was quite civil, and assured me he had but one brother, whose name was Mortimer, and whom I had just seen on Broadway. He was just as curious to know my business with any one of his name as the first had been; but I was not willing to give him any satisfaction. The next Loraine on my list was the other merchant, whose place of business was in Chambers Street. "McKim & Loraine" was the firm. Impressed with the belief that the junior member of this firm would prove to be the person I sought, I was very careful to satisfy myself that Tom Thornton was not lying in wait for me. In the morning I had put on the new suit of clothes purchased on Saturday night. I hoped this change in my dress would enable me to pass unnoticed if he were watching for me.
As I did not see him anywhere in the vicinity,—though I knew it was possible for him to be concealed in some doorway, or observing me from some chamber window,—I entered the store of McKim & Loraine. As I went in, I saw on a corner sign the full names of the partners, the last of which was"Freeman Loraine." I was directed to the counting-room by a porter.
"Is Mr. Loraine in?" I asked of a clerk at the desk.
"He is not—gone to Baltimore," replied the man, hardly looking up from his ledger.
"When will he return?" I inquired, greatly disappointed.
"Don't know; Mr. McKim is in his office; he can tell you."
I entered a small apartment in the corner, and asked for the senior partner. An elderly gentleman, busy with heaps of letters, informed me that he was the person.
"I wish to see Mr. Loraine very much," I continued.
"He has been in Baltimore for a week; we expect he will return to-day or to-morrow—probably to-night," answered Mr. McKim, fixing his eyes upon the open letter before him.
"Have you been acquainted with Mr. Loraine long?" I ventured to ask.
"Thirty years," replied he, glancing at me with asmile, as though the acquaintance was a pleasant thing to contemplate. "He has been my partner for twenty."
"Can you tell me, sir, whether he ever had a brother by the name of Austin Loraine," I added, emboldened by his smile.
"He had; I knew Austin very well. He died some eight or ten years ago," said Mr. McKim, now so much interested in my questions that he threw down the letter, and gave his attention wholly to me.
"I am very glad to learn this, and I am sorry Mr. Loraine is not at home."
"Can I do anything for you?" he asked.
"No, sir; thank you; I think not. Mr. Loraine's niece is in the city, and wishes to see him very much," I added.
"Why don't she go to his house? His family are at home."
"Kate is with some friends, and I think she would rather wait till her uncle returns, as he is coming so soon. I will call again to-morrow."
"Mr. Loraine lives in Madison Place;" and hegave me the number, which I wrote down on a paper, and told Mr. McKim where Kate was staying.
When I went out of the store I looked again for Tom Thornton. He must have come to the city by this time, and I was rather surprised to find he was not already on my track. I did not see him, but I afterwards found out, to my sorrow, that his eye was upon me from the moment I went into the store of McKim & Loraine. I hastened back to the hotel, and informed Kate that I had found her uncle, but he was not at home. She was so well cared for by Mrs. Macombe that she was in no haste to leave her.
After dinner we all took a walk on the Battery and up Broadway, to see the sights. When we returned, at five o'clock, we found a carriage waiting to convey Kate and me to Mr. Loraine's house in Madison Place.
I COULD not exactly understand how Mr. Loraine, being in Baltimore, or on the way to New York, had sent a carriage for his niece. It was possible that Kate's uncle had returned sooner than he had been expected, or that Mr. McKim had seen his partner's family, and they had sent for Kate. It did not occur to me that there was anything wrong; but I desired to see Mr. Loraine, and tell him her story before his niece went to his house.
"Who sent you for Miss Loraine?" I asked of the hackman.
"How should I know who sint me?" replied the driver, an ill-favored Irishman, and a rough specimen even of New York hackmen, who are not reputed to be saints. "A gintleman gave me this paper, and told me to come here."
I took the paper, and read what was written upon it: "Call at the —— Hotel for Miss Kate Loraine, and drive her to No. — Madison Place. Bring the young man who is with her also."
"Who gave you this?" I asked.
"I don't know who he was. It was a gintleman that came over to the hack-stand by the Park."
"Was he an old man, or a young man?"
"Middling ould—not very ould, either; he wasn't what you'd call a young man," replied the driver.
"Was he fifty?"
"He might be; and then again he might not be," answered the man.
This was very definite, and it was plain to me that I could not find out from such a stupid fellow whether or not it was Mr. McKim who had sent him. I decided that Kate should not go to Madison Place that day. It would be much better for me to see her uncle first, for such a course would save her from an unpleasant scene, if he decided not to receive her. I told the hackman we should not go; and the fellow growled about his fare, but finallydrove off, declaring that the people in Madison Place should pay him for his trouble.
I was annoyed by the incident, and was afraid it would prejudice Kate's uncle—if he had returned—against her, or if he had not, that his wife would be vexed. Before the hack was out of sight, I was sorry I had not permitted Kate to go. I talked the matter over with her, and with her kind friends, who thought I had been over-nice about the matter.
About seven o'clock, the same hackman came again. I was sent for, and met him in the office. He was as surly and cross as before, though his face wore something like an expression of triumph this time.
"It's a dale of throuble you're makin for your friends," said he, handing me a note.
"You shall be paid for all the trouble I give you," I replied, offended at the fellow's impudence.
I glanced at the note, and found it was directed to Kate. I carried it up to her, and after she had read it, she handed it to me.
"My uncle has returned," said she. "He seems to be real good and kind—don't he?"
I read the note, which was as follows:—
"My Dear Niece: I learned from Mr. McKim, since I returned from Baltimore this afternoon, that you were in the city. I should call upon you myself, but I am quite ill, and do not feel able to do so. I desire to see you very much, and the bearer of this note will drive you to my house. I think Mr. McKim spoke of a young man with you, who called upon him. Let him come with you, if you please.Freeman Loraine."
"My Dear Niece: I learned from Mr. McKim, since I returned from Baltimore this afternoon, that you were in the city. I should call upon you myself, but I am quite ill, and do not feel able to do so. I desire to see you very much, and the bearer of this note will drive you to my house. I think Mr. McKim spoke of a young man with you, who called upon him. Let him come with you, if you please.
Freeman Loraine."
"Your uncle is good and kind, and I am sorry I gave him the trouble to send twice," I added, when I had finished reading the note. "We will go with the hackman as soon as you are ready."
"How far is it?" asked Mrs. Macombe.
"Mr. Loraine lives in Madison Place; but I haven't the least idea where that is," I replied.
"Shall we see you again?" asked our kind friend.
"Why, yes, I hope so. I will come down and see you. But I don't know yet whether I am to stay with my uncle or not," said Kate, as she put on hershawl and bonnet. "I must see you again, and I shall tell my uncle all about you."
"I shall depend upon seeing you again, and I hope you will find a good and pleasant home," added the worthy old lady.
I escorted Kate down to the street, and handed her into the carriage. The driver closed the door when I had taken my seat, mounted his box, and drove off.
"I am quite sure, Kate, that you will remain with your uncle," said I, as the hack rattled up Broadway.
"You can't be sure," replied she, somewhat excited by the prospect that was opening before her.
"Not exactly sure; but the interest he manifests in you, and the trouble he takes to have you come to his house, convince me that he is a man worthy to be your father's brother."
"Perhaps he will scold me for running away from Mrs. Loraine," suggested she, timidly.
"I think not. He will not be willing that you should be shut up for a whole week for taking long stitches, or for treading on a flower. There may be some difficulty in the way, as your step-mother islegally your guardian; but your uncle will find a way to release you from such odious bondage. But we won't anticipate anything. If your uncle won't take care of you, I will, for I like you, Kate, and I mean to stand by you just as long as you need any help. Mrs. Macombe will be very glad to take you home with her."
"I seem to have plenty of friends now. But, however many friends I may have, Ernest Thornton, I shall always be grateful to you for what you have done for me. I shall always consider you my first and best friend on earth. But you are going off, over the ocean; and I shall not see you again."
"I shall return soon."
"When shall you go?"
"I shall not go till I am sure you are safe and well provided for. If, as I expect, your uncle takes you to his home, I shall start day after to-morrow."
"So soon?"
"Yes; I cannot needlessly waste a single day. My poor mother, for aught I know, is still in sorrow and suffering."
"How glad she will be to see you, if you find her!"
"I shall find her; I shall not give up the search until I do find her, if it takes me all the rest of my lifetime. But I expect to be successful without much trouble."
We were silent then for half an hour, I judged, in which I was thinking of the great mission that was before me; and I have no doubt Kate was anticipating the scene that awaited her at the house of her uncle. The carriage still rattled along, and it was beginning to be dark, for we had been riding nearly an hour. I thought it was about time for us to reach Madison Place. We must have gone at least six miles, and I came deliberately to the conclusion that New York was a bigger city than I had ever supposed.
"Haven't you got almost to Madison Place?" I shouted to the driver, when my patience began to be sorely tried.
"It's a good piece yet," replied the driver, in the same surly tones.
"I think we must be almost up to Albany," I said to Kate, as I glanced out at the window.
"Not quite so far as that," laughed Kate.
"This don't look like a very aristocratic part of the city," I added. "The houses are all of wood, and poor ones at that."
"You must be patient, Ernest Thornton. We must soon reach my uncle's house."
"Your uncle's, or Albany, I should say."
We were silent again. It did not seem to me possible that Madison Place could be so far off. While I was fretting about the distance, I heard a whistle like that with which one calls his dog, three times repeated. I should not have noticed it, if the carriage had not stopped in the middle of the street immediately after I heard it. The halt was but for an instant—long enough to permit a man to get on the box with the driver.
"How much farther is it to Madison Place?" I demanded again.
"Only a little piece," answered the surly driver; but he seemed to be more pliable now.
I looked out at the window again. The houses were meaner and more scattered than before, and there were no signs of a mansion fit for the residence of a wealthy merchant. I began to wonderwho the man was on the box with the driver, and why he had whistled. I changed my position to the front seat, under the window, which I had opened to enable me to speak to the driver.
I began to have a suspicion that something was wrong, and I determined to investigate as far as it was possible to do so. I waited to hear if anything was said by the two men on the box. I listened eagerly and painfully, for my suspicions almost made me mad. I reviewed the circumstances under which we had left the hotel. The letter was signed by Mr. Loraine, and the driver told me he had brought it from Madison Place.
My heart rose up into my throat, as the conviction flashed upon my mind that Kate and I were the victims of some villanous scheme. The rascally driver could not have gone to Madison Place in the time that intervened between his two calls at the hotel, if Madison Place was farther off than we had yet gone. I was so nervous and restless that Kate fathomed my painful anxiety. She could not help believing by this time that something was wrong.
"O, Ernest Thornton!" exclaimed she, when it was no longer possible for her to keep still.
"Don't be alarmed, Kate," I replied; but I was fearfully alarmed myself.
"Where are we going?"
"I don't know; but it is plain enough now that we have been deceived."
"Tom Thornton has done this!" gasped she.
"I suppose so; but be calm, Kate. Heaven will protect us."
"I am frightened almost to death," said she, with chattering teeth. "What shall we do?"
"I don't know yet. Keep as cool as you can, and leave it all to me. They can't go a great ways farther with this team. We must stop soon."
I was strongly impressed with the opinion that it was time something was done. Of course the wretches on the box had made their plans beforehand, and everything seemed to be working well for them. Doubtless they would have the means of securely disposing of their victims when they reached their destination. It seemed to me to be necessary, therefore, to derange their plans, if possible, and I waited for a favorable time to make a demonstration.