WE had a remarkably pleasant and quick passage, and on the eighth day from New York, while we were at dinner, I heard the captain say to a lady who sat near him, that we should be off Queenstown the next morning, at six or seven o'clock. I was sorry that we were to approach the land by night, for I wanted to see it.
"You can see it if you choose to sit up all night," laughed Mr. Solomons.
"It will be rather too dark to see anything," I added.
"Not at all; it is about the full of the moon, and it will be as light as day. You can turn in early, and sleep four or five hours. We shall be off Crookhaven, where they throw over the despatch bag,about five or six hours before we stop off Queenstown; that will make it about two in the morning. If you will retire at eight, it will give you six hours' sleep; and you can turn in again and finish your nap after you have seen enough of the shore."
"I think I will do so, sir. What is the despatch bag you speak of?" I asked.
"The despatches are put into a barrel and thrown overboard off Crookhaven, where a steamer picks them up. They are taken ashore and telegraphed to London. The despatches are simply the newspapers, from which the news agent transmits the important items."
After dinner, when I went on deck, I found the carpenter preparing a flour barrel for the despatches. A quantity of sand was put in the bottom to make it stand up straight in the water. A pole was set up in the barrel, like the mast of a vessel, to the top of which a blue-light was attached, to be ignited when it was thrown overboard, in order to enable the despatch steamer to find it readily. In the daytime a red rag is sometimes attached to it, I was told by the carpenter. The papers were placed ina water-tight can, and imbedded in the sand in the barrel.
At sea almost anything creates an excitement, and the preparing the despatch barrel was witnessed by many persons, among whom I noticed Dunkswell. I had observed that he listened very attentively to all that passed between Mr. Solomons and myself at the dinner table. I did not regard this as very strange, for all on board were deeply interested in everything which related to the progress of the steamer.
At eight o'clock I turned in, and went to sleep very soon. I had before made a trade with one of the stewards to call me at two o'clock, and at this hour he waked me. The night was beautiful; the moon shone brightly on the silver waters, and the sea was quite smooth. I did not see a single passenger on the hurricane deck. I made out the outline of some high hills on the shore, and the glimmer of a couple of distant lights. Three men were standing ready to throw over the despatch barrel as soon as the small steamer should appear.
I was a boy then, and had a boy's curiosity to see how everything was done. The hurricane deck wassurrounded by an open railing, on the top of which I placed myself, where I could see over the stern of the ship. I was so accustomed to the water, and to high places, that I had no fear of anything. I put my legs over, and sat facing astern.
"Don't sit there, young man; you'll certainly fall overboard," said the officer of the deck, who had come aft to see that the barrel was ready to go over.
"No danger of that," I replied, easily.
"Better get down, and come on board," added a quarter-master.
"I'm an old sailor," I answered, laughing at the caution.
"Steamer on the port bow!" cried some one forward.
"Ready with the barrel!" called the officer.
"All ready, sir!" replied the quarter-master, whose attention was thus turned away from me.
The barrel was lifted over the rail, near where I sat, and held there till the order should be given to let it go. The quarter-master had a match in his hand to light the fireworks. Over on my right Icould now see the little steamer, rising and falling on the long swells of the placid, moonlit ocean.
"Light up, Murray!" called the officer, when the despatch boat was but a short distance from the steamer.
The blue-light hissed and flared up when the match was applied, shedding its livid glare upon the weather-stained faces of the seamen.
"Over with it!" shouted the officer.
It soused into the water, and I leaned forward to observe the splash.
"Stand by the fore-braces!" called the officer; and the seamen rushed forward to execute the order.
At that moment I heard a step behind me on the deck; but I was too much absorbed in watching the blue-light on the barrel to heed anything else. The next instant I found myself spinning through the air, and then plunging deep down into the bosom of the tranquil sea. I was in my element now, though it was rather too much element; but I struck out, as soon as I rose to the surface, for the blue-light. I shouted for help; but the great steamer seemed to be hard of hearing, and went on her way as thoughnothing had happened. I swam as I had never swum before, and reached the barrel just as the despatch boat stopped her wheels to pick it up.
"Steamer ahoy!" I shouted
"Who's there?" called a voice from her deck.
"Man overboard!" I replied, puffing from the violence of my exertions.
"Where away?"
"On the barrel."
"I see him!" said one of the hands, as the bow of the boat ran up to the barrel.
A rope was thrown to me, and I was assisted on board.
"What's the matter? Did you fall overboard from the steamer?" asked a well-dressed, gentlemanly man, on the deck of the boat.
"Yes, sir; I suppose I did; I don't know exactly how it happened," I replied, spitting the salt water out of my mouth.
"You are fortunate to fall over just as the despatch boat was approaching you."
"Probably I shouldn't have fallen overboard if I had not been watching the barrel so intently."
"What shall we do for you?" asked the gentleman, kindly. "Come into the cabin, and get your wet clothes off."
The crew of the steamer were busy getting in the barrel, and my new friend, who was full of sympathy, conducted me to the cabin, where I divested myself of a portion of my clothing. By this time the despatches had been secured, and the captain came below. He gave me a flannel shirt and a pair of trowsers, and sent me to his state-room to put them on. I was very much alarmed about the safety of the contents of my money-belt; but, on removing it, I found that the oiled silk, in which the bank notes and the papers had been enclosed to prevent the perspiration of my body from injuring them, had protected them in a great measure. A few drops of water had penetrated through the folds of the silk, but no harm was done to the documents or the money.
I wrung out the belt and put it on again, after I had wiped myself dry. Clothing myself in the flannel shirt and pants, both of which were "a mile too big for me," I returned to the cabin. The captainthen carried all my clothes to the furnace-room to be dried, just as the boat stopped at Crookhaven to land the despatches.
"I suppose you would like to follow the steamer, young man," said the gentleman who had been so kind to me.
"Very much, indeed!" I replied, eagerly; for I feared that the accident would render my mission to England fruitless.
"You are extremely fortunate again," added he. "This steamer is to proceed to Kinsale with me immediately."
Mr. Carmichael, the gentleman who addressed me, proved to be an agent of the telegraph company, who had come down to this station to look after its affairs. His business was finished, and he was in a hurry to reach London; but it was twenty miles, by a rough and tiresome road, to any public conveyance, and the steamer had been placed at his disposal. He told me he should have gone the day before, but the boat was required to be on the watch for the despatches.
"I hope to reach Kinsale in time for the nineo'clock train to Cork," said he. "If we do, you will not be much behind the steamer. Had you any friends on board?"
"Yes, sir, one gentleman," I replied.
"Of course he will be troubled about you. Perhaps you would like to telegraph to him."
I was pleased with this suggestion, for I felt that I had one good friend on board of the ship who would worry about me in the morning, when my absence was discovered. Knowing that Mr. Solomons intended to stay at the Washington Hotel in Liverpool, if he had to wait for a train, and at Morley's in London while in the metropolis, I wrote a brief despatch, to be forwarded to each, which Mr. Carmichael sent to the office. The steamer then proceeded on her trip to Kinsale, at three o'clock.
I was very grateful to Mr. Carmichael and the captain for their kindness to me, and I did not fail to express my obligations in the strongest terms. A berth in the cabin was assigned to me, and as the run to Kinsale would occupy between five and six hours, I turned in to finish my nap. I was too much excited to sleep, and I could not help thinkingof what had happened to me. I had never done such a thing as to fall overboard without some help. Though I was not positive, I had a very strong impression that I had felt something on my back, while watching the blue-light on the barrel. Whether it had been the swaying of the signal halyards against me, or the push of a human hand, I was not certain; but I could not help believing that E. Dunkswell had helped me to my involuntary bath. I don't know now, but I still believe it.
I had no doubt he had been instructed by Tom Thornton to see Bunyard before I did. Whether the villain intended to drown me, or only to delay my arrival in London, I have no means of knowing. Doubtless he intended to land at Queenstown, and get to London eight or ten hours before the passengers who proceeded to Liverpool in the steamer. I went to sleep at last, satisfied that I was again the victim of a conspiracy. But when I was awakened at half past eight, in Kinsale harbor, I was also satisfied that the way of the wicked shall not prosper.
My clothes, thoroughly dried, were brought to me, and I dressed myself in season to land for the trainfor Cork, where we arrived as soon as the mails and those of the passengers who landed there. I breakfasted with Mr. Carmichael at the Royal Victoria, and at twenty minutes of eleven we took the train for Dublin, where we arrived at half past three. Though I made diligent search among the passengers, I could not find E. Dunkswell, and I concluded that he had gone to Liverpool in the steamer. In the evening I took the train for Kingstown, where I embarked in the steamer for Holyhead, at which place I again took a train, and at seven o'clock on Saturday morning was at Morley's, in London, at least eight hours before my fellow-voyagers could arrive.
After I had breakfasted, I took the Bunyard letter from my money-belt, and hastened to find Old Jewry.
THOUGH I was in a strange land, and in the midst of the wonders of the Old World, I had but little curiosity to see the grand sights which London can present. I had been whirled through Ireland, Wales, and England to the great metropolis, part of the time by daylight; and though I had kept my eyes wide open, I realized that my mission was higher and grander than studying landscapes, and wandering through the vaulted arches of old cathedrals.
When Mr. Carmichael told me, early in the morning, that I was in England, the thought that I was in the same country with my mother thrilled me with delight, which, however, was not unmingled with apprehension lest I should seek and not find; lestdisease and death had robbed me of her I sought. At the station in Euston Square I had parted with the telegraph agent, with many thanks for his kindness. I took his address, hoping that at some future time I might be able to reciprocate the attention he had bestowed upon me. I may as well say here that Mr. Carmichael afterwards came to the United States, and that I helped him to a situation which paid him ten times the salary he had ever before received, when he was as grateful to me as I had been to him.
Morley's Hotel is in Trafalgar Square, at one end of the Strand. I had looked up Old Jewry in the Post-office Directory. The hall porter of the hotel had given me general directions, and I walked out into the Strand, and took an omnibus with the word "Bank" painted on it. On the top of the London omnibus there is a double seat along the middle, on which the passengers sit facing the buildings on each side of the street. I occupied one of these places. The Bank of England was my objective point, for Old Jewry was near it. I passed St. Paul's, whose towering height and blackened walls I recognized,and entered Cheapside—a name which sounded quite familiar to me. I descended from my perch when the omnibus stopped, and after several inquiries found the place I sought.
Old Jewry was nothing but a narrow lane, and I had no difficulty in finding the number of Mr. Bunyard's office. I followed his name, repeated on the walls, up three flights of stairs; and by the time I had reached the third floor, I came to the conclusion that my uncle's agent was a person of no great consequence. He was fortunately in his room, a little apartment ten feet square, with no furniture but a desk and two chairs. Mr. Bunyard was a man of fifty or more. He stopped writing when I entered, and looked at me.
"Mr. Bunyard?" I asked, as politely as I could, while my heart leaped with emotion.
"The same," replied he.
I handed him the letter, which he opened at once. He took from it a bill of exchange, which seemed to light up his face with satisfaction.
"I am very happy to hear from my friend Mr. Thornton. I hope he is quite well. He does notmention the bearer of this letter," continued the agent, bestowing an inquiring look upon me.
"He was not aware, when he wrote the letter, that I should be the bearer of it," I replied, evasively. "My name is Thornton."
"I am happy to meet you, Mr. Thornton," he added.
"How is Mrs. Thornton now?" I inquired, boldly, though my heart almost sank within me, when I put the question.
He looked at me—appeared to hesitate; but a glance at the letter and the bill of exchange I had brought apparently reassured him. Doubtless he concluded, as I supposed he would, that it was all right, since I came directly from his employer, and was the bearer of a payment to him.
"Mrs. Thornton is quite as well as usual," he replied.
"I wish to see her," I continued, squarely.
"Did your father desire you to see her?" he asked, doubtfully.
"Of course he did," I answered, which was quite true, though my conscience charged me with deceivinghim. "I wish to make an arrangement with her."
"Indeed?"
"Yes, sir."
"It would be proper that any arrangement with her should be made through me," he added, cautiously.
"Of course, the actual business will be done through you," I replied, magnanimously.
"Certainly it should be, for I have served Mr. Thornton very faithfully for many years in this matter, and at a very reasonable compensation."
"I know that he appreciates your devotion, and is willing to do the right thing by you," I continued at a venture; and I thought there was no harm in committing my uncle to a liberal policy.
"I have been paid only one hundred pound a year for my services, and that only for a brief period. Really I must insist, before you see the poor lady, that you should explain your business with her."
"My time is short," I replied, ratherbrusquely. "I wish to know for what sum, cash down, you will terminate your relations with the lady."
"That will require some consideration," replied he, apparently pleased with the idea.
"Of course your client in this matter is entirely in your power. He cannot shake you off, and whatever arrangement is made with the lady shall be done through you. Now, if you will give me her address, I will go and see her, and in the mean time you can make up your estimate of the sum that ought to be paid to you," I said, with the most business-like air I could assume.
"I will do it," replied he, after some hesitation; and he wrote the address on a piece of paper.
How eagerly I took it! I felt then that the battle had been fought and won. On the paper was written: "Mrs. Thornton, Stony Stratford, Bucks. Inquire for Mrs. Challis." My business with Mr. Bunyard was done, and I hastened away, though he insisted upon my remaining longer. I think he was sorry he had given me the address before I left the room.
Being near the banker's, I drew fifty pounds, which was paid without question.
I went back to Morley's, and ascertained that StonyStratford was on the road to Rugby, and that I must leave the train at Wolverton station. I called a Hansom cab, and reached Euston Square depot just in time for the train. I will not attempt to describe the emotions which agitated me as I sped over the country. I was on the point of meeting my mother, and though the rich panorama of an English landscape was passing before me, I could think of nothing else. In two hours I reached the Wolverton station, and there learned that it was four and a half miles to Stony Stratford. I engaged a team to take me over. My driver inquired till he found the house of Mrs. Challis. It was a small and mean dwelling, and I began to feel indignant that my mother was compelled to live in such a place. My knock, under the influence of this feeling, was a very decided one.
"Is Mrs. Thornton at home?" I inquired—my utterance almost choked by agitation—of the woman who came to the door.
"She is, but she don't see any one," replied the woman, sourly, as she abruptly closed the door in my face.
I rapped again, and my knuckles not proving sufficient, I used my boot.
"You can't see Mrs. Thornton!" snarled the woman, angrily, as she opened the door a little crack.
"I can and will!" I replied. "Mr. Bunyard sent me."
"O, did he?" she added, opening the door.
"Here's the paper he gave me."
She looked at it, and invited me to enter. My limbs trembled under me as I walked into the room.
"Mrs. Thornton is out in the garden, but I will call her," said Mrs. Challis—or I supposed it was she.
"Never mind calling her. I will see her in the garden," I added, going out of the back door, which was open, without waiting for the woman's permission.
Walking in the back part of the garden I discovered a lady, thin and pale, dressed in coarse but neat garments. It was my mother. I could hardly control myself. My eyes filled with tears as I looked at her.
"Mrs. Thornton?" I asked, tremblingly.
"I am Mrs. Thornton," replied she, gazing curiously at me.
"I suppose you know Amos Thornton?" I continued, not daring to tell her who I was.
"To my sorrow I do," she replied, shaking her head.
"I have heard that you had a son."
"He is gone—why do you ask?"
"Gone?"
"He is dead," said she, sadly.
"Are you sure?"
"For a long time I would not believe it."
"I think it is a mistake."
Her chest heaved with emotion, and the tears flowed down her pale cheek. She gazed at me a moment, and then threw her arms around my neck.
"You are my son—I know you are!" sobbed she.
"My mother!" was all I could say; and we wept for many minutes in silence, closely folded in each other's arms.
When I raised my head, Mrs. Challis was standing by us. She had a troubled look, as though she feared something had gone wrong.
"What does all this mean?" she asked; but neither of us took any notice of her.
"I have hoped all the time that you were not dead," said my mother, smiling through her tears.
"I must return to London immediately, and you must go with me, mother," I continued.
"To London!" exclaimed Mrs. Challis. "Indeed she must not go to London!"
"Indeed she must!" I added, as decidedly as though I meant to break through a stone wall, if need be. "Get ready as quick as you can, mother, for there is not more than time enough for us to reach the station."
"I say she cannot go!" interposed Mrs. Challis.
"And I say she can and shall! Get your clothes, mother."
"There is three pound five due for her board," added the landlady.
"Give me the bill, and I will pay it."
My mother seemed to be bewildered, but I led her to the house, and urged her to prepare for her journey. Mrs. Challis, after I had paid her bill, continued to object to the departure of her boarder. I told her if she wished to keep out of trouble, the less she said, the better it would be for her. My poor motherhad been so long a prisoner, that she was confused by the sudden change in her prospects. I went into her room, and assisted her in packing her meagre wardrobe. She had put on a well-worn black silk dress, and an antiquated bonnet lay on the table. I told her to take only such clothing as she would need immediately, for I saw that most of her wearing apparel was not worth the transportation. Having thrust these articles into a carpet-bag, I hurried her out of the house to the carriage which was waiting for me at the door.
We reached the station in time for the London train. My mother was excited, and I did not permit her to speak of the past. I kept up a lively conversation, and did not allow her to think of her wrongs and her sorrows. On our arrival, we went to Morley's, where I obtained a room for her. Mr. Solomons had just arrived. He had received the telegraphic despatch in Liverpool. I hastily told him my story, and what I had done since my arrival in London.
"My dear boy!" exclaimed he, "you have done wonders. I was sure you were lost overboard. No one had seen you, or heard anything of you; onlythe officers and sailors had warned you not to sit on the rail."
"Where is Dunkswell?" I asked.
"He came to London in the same train I did."
At my request Mr. Solomons accompanied me to the office of Bunyard. When we entered, Dunkswell was there. Both of them had found out that "somebody" was smart.
"Young man, you have deceived me!" said Bunyard, savagely.
"The wicked deceiveth himself," I replied, in words better than my own. "I have called to say that you need give yourself no further trouble in regard to Mrs. Thornton. I wish to tell you now that she is in London, and that she is my mother."
"I must be paid—"
"Paid!" I interposed. "I'll pay you! We are not far from Newgate, and if my mother is willing, I will help you to lodgings there. As for you, E. Dunkswell, you can go back to Tom Thornton, and tell him you have burnt your fingers. You helped me overboard."
"I!" exclaimed he, with quivering lip.
"Did he?" asked Mr. Solomons.
"I believe he did; perhaps I can prove it."
E. Dunkswell sank into a chair, pale as a ghost. Bunyard looked cheap, and said no more about being paid, and I retired from the presence of my defeated foes. Mr. Solomons insisted that they should be punished, especially Dunkswell, but I told him I could not prove that he had pushed me overboard; and I could not stay in London long enough to follow up the criminal. I engaged passage in the Saturday steamer for my mother and myself before returning to the hotel.
We remained four days in London, during which time I kept my mother's mind fully occupied in replenishing her wardrobe.
IF E. Dunkswell had not helped me overboard, as I think he did, he might have reached London before I did, and thus defeated me, at least for a time. Twice had he confused and confounded his own schemes. Bunyard, deceived by the letter I had brought from my uncle, gave me the address of my mother. If not before, he learned his blunder when Dunkswell arrived. I could fancy the confusion with which they confronted each other when the facts came out. But it was "all up" with them. They had been "whipped out," and I was satisfied. I did not wish to prosecute them, because it would delay me, and because it would expose our family affairs, and subject my mother to more excitement than she could bear.
She was weak and nervous, and I did not encourage her to talk much of the past. I went with her to Westminster Abbey, the Tower of London, and other places with which she was familiar. On Friday afternoon we bade adieu to Mr. Solomons, and went to Liverpool. My mother was now entirely changed in appearance. She had laid aside her worn-out black silk and her unfashionable bonnet. She looked like a lady, and she was one. I was proud of her. The future was now full of hope and joy to me, and I was the happiest young man in the world.
On Saturday we sailed for home. My mother seemed then to feel that she was out of the reach of the enemy who had persecuted her for so many years. She overcame her nervousness, and her strength increased every day. I had purchased a rocking-chair in Liverpool for her use on the hurricane deck, and every pleasant day we sat together there. On these days my mother told me what she had suffered. I had not permitted her to do so before, anxious as I was to learn the facts. I will state them briefly, as I derived them from these conversations.
My mother was born in Paris of English parents, but both of them died before she was eighteen. She was well educated, and being left without any means of support, she became a governess in an American family residing in the city. Here my father made her acquaintance, and married her. They lived in Philadelphia three years, and I was born there. When I was two years old, my mother's only relative, a bachelor uncle, died in London, leaving a considerable estate. She was notified that a portion of the property would go to her by will. My father's health was poor, and he had decided to take up his residence for a few years in the south of France, and my mother's affairs induced him to hasten his departure.
Leaving his property in the hands of his brother Amos, he sailed for Europe, accompanied by his wife and son. On his arrival in London he found the affairs of my mother's uncle in great confusion. Another will had been produced, in which my mother's name was not mentioned. My father believed there was fraud, or that the second will had been made under illegal pressure, and he contested it. The proceedingsdetained him in London a year; at the end of which time, having lost the case, his health was entirely broken down by fatigue and excitement. Conscious that he should not live to return to his native land, he sent for his brother Amos, to assist him in settling his worldly affairs. The will was made, and he died.
His death was a terrible blow to my mother, and being of a very sensitive nature, it affected her reason. She became insane, and Amos sent her to a private asylum, within a month after my father's funeral. Until this time, probably, the brother had no intention of defrauding her and her son. Amos had all the property of my father in his own hands. The temptation was great, and finding that my mother's health did not improve, he decided to return to America, with his son Thomas, who accompanied him, taking me with him in charge of a nurse. The care of my mother was left to Mr. Bunyard, who was to pay her bills. My mother was the inmate of the asylum for two years, though she was cured in less than one.
She was discharged, and Mr. Bunyard conveyedher to a small village in Hampshire, assuring her that Amos would come for her soon; but year after year she hoped to see her son, till she was told that he was dead. Her residence was changed every two or three years, for what reason she did not know; but every time it was for the worse, until her food, clothing, and accommodations were not better than those of the poorest class. I readily perceived that it was to enable Mr. Bunyard to make more money out of his victim, by paying less for her board. My uncle sent him two hundred pounds a year, but he did not spend fifty upon her.
My mother was never allowed to have any money, and could not help herself. She was continually told that her mind was disordered, especially when she spoke of her husband's property and her son.
This was the substance of my mother's story, and I readily supplied what was wanting. My uncle had gone with me to the cottage on Lake Adieno, and Tom Thornton had taken possession of the property. The will had simply been kept out of sight.
"Mother, you are safe now," was my oft-repeated remark to her.
"I know that I am; and I thank God for giving me such a noble and devoted son," was her reply.
We enjoyed every day of the passage in talking over the past and the future. I told her everything I had ever done and said with the utmost minuteness. I described my life at the cottage, my excursions on the lake, all my friends, and related the history of "Breaking Away." In twelve days we reached New York. As soon as we had taken rooms at a hotel, I hastened with my mother to see Kate Loraine.
"O, Ernest Thornton! I am so glad to see you!" exclaimed she.
"My mother, Kate," I replied proudly.
"I am so delighted!" cried Kate, seizing her hand. "Now you must tell me all about it, Ernest Thornton."
I told her all about it, and she wondered, ejaculated, and wept.
"Mrs. Thornton, your son is the best boy in all the world, and I love him—I love him as though he were my own brother," said she, warmly.
"I am very proud of him," replied my mother, as she smiled upon me.
"All right," I added, feeling my cheeks glow. "What has happened, Kate, since I went away."
"Mr. Windleton has returned, and Uncle Freeman is to be my guardian. He had a very disagreeable meeting with Mrs. Loraine, but she cannot help herself."
We spent the evening at the house, and the next day we started for Parkville. How my heart beat when the carriage in which we rode over from Romer passed the cottage of my uncle! We went to the house of Mr. Hale first.
"Bob, my dear fellow!" I exclaimed, when he entered the room; and in spite of boyish prejudices against the operation, I could not help hugging him. "My mother, Bob," I added, before he had time to say anything.
"I am glad to see you, Ernest—upon my word I am. I am happy to meet you," he added, bowing to my mother.
She took his hand, and told him she knew him as her son's best friend. Mr. Hale soon made his appearance, and gave us a hearty welcome. He said some very pleasant things to me, which my modestywill not permit me to repeat, though I have shamed that quality sometimes in this memoir. We talked of business then. I told him I did not wish to injure my uncle, however much he had injured my mother and myself.
"Your uncle is evidently under the influence of his son," added Mr. Hale, "and it may be necessary to take some decided steps."
"You are a lawyer, sir, and I leave the matter entirely with you; but I hope you will make it as easy as you can for uncle Amos, for I am pretty sure Tom is the author of the mischief."
"Our action must depend upon the position they take. It is best for us to see your uncle without delay. If Tom hears of your arrival, he may take the money and leave the country. It will be well for you to see him first; I will follow you soon," said Mr. Hale.
I procured a carryall at the stable, and drove my mother to the cottage. Old Betsey was delighted to see me. Leaving my mother in the parlor, I went to the door of my uncle's library and knocked.
"Ernest!" exclaimed he, starting back.
"Yes, sir; I have come to see you."
"But—" He paused, his lips quivered, and his frame trembled.
"You are not glad to see me?" I added.
"I am very glad to see you—more so than you can think. But how is it I see you? Thomas told me you started for England, and was lost overboard on the passage."
"Did he tell you that?" I demanded, astonished; and I saw at once that E. Dunkswell, on the arrival of the steamer at Queenstown, where a letter could be mailed, had written to his employer.
And Tom Thornton at that moment believed I was lying at the bottom of the sea, no more to disturb him, or threaten his ill-gotten possessions. I told my uncle that my life had been preserved.
"Thank God!" said he, so earnestly that I believed he was sincere. "I feared that Thomas, through his agent, had committed a crime greater than mine."
"If the intention makes the crime, I think he did commit it. Where is Tom Thornton?" I asked.
"He is here to-day," replied my uncle, going to the window and calling his son, who was walking by the lake. "You have been to England, Ernest?"
He trembled all over, and I pitied him.
"I have, sir."
"It was needless for you to go there. If you had listened to me—"
"It was not needless. My mother is in the parlor now."
"Your mother!" gasped he, springing from his chair, and then falling back again.
"You shall see her."
"No—no, Ernest!"
There was a knock at the door. I opened it, and Tom Thornton entered. He saw me, and turned pale. His victim had risen from the depths of the ocean to confront him.
"Ah, Ernest," stammered he.
"I am here. E. Dunkswell was a fool as well as a knave."
"What shall be done?" groaned my uncle.
"I was told that you were lost overboard," said Tom, with a struggle to recover his self-possession.
"E. Dunkswell pushed me overboard; but that act proved to be my salvation. I won't trouble you with particulars. My mother is in the parlor."
"Your mother!" exclaimed Tom; and from the height of guilty confidence he fell to the depth of hopeless despair.
"What shall be done?" repeated my uncle, in hollow tones.
"Justice must be done," I replied.
"You have been smart, Ernest," added Tom, with a sepulchral laugh. "How can we settle this business?"
"By paying over to Mr. Hale every dollar mentioned in my father's will," I replied.
"You are hard, Ernest."
"But I am your guardian and trustee, Ernest," said my uncle.
Tom said half the money was spent, and offered to give up fifty thousand dollars in United States securities.
"Every dollar," I added.
"I will look it over, Ernest, and see what can be done," replied Tom, moving to the door.
He rushed out, but only to fall into the arms of my old friend, Mr. Greene, the deputy-sheriff. Mr. Hale had taken one decisive step. The officer conductedTom back to the library, and I went for my mother. I was afraid my uncle would faint again when she entered the room, but he did not; and then I was afraid my mother would faint, she was so agitated.
"Mr. Thornton, this is unpleasant business," said Mr. Hale. "As the attorney for Mrs. Thornton and her son, I purpose to settle this matter as quietly as possible. I understand that the property is in the hands of your son. I procured a warrant for his arrest on the criminal charge."
"Mercy!" groaned my uncle. "Do not arrest him."
"When he has paid over every dollar mentioned in the will of Ezra Thornton, we shall be willing to say that no one will appear against him. My clients do not mention nearly a hundred thousand dollars' income of which you have defrauded them. These are our best terms."
"That will leave me and my son beggars," whined my uncle.
"As you would have left your brother's legal heirs," replied Mr. Hale, sternly. "This poor ladyhas suffered twelve years of misery, but she does not ask you to pay the back income. Moreover, if you do not accept these terms, I shall be obliged to cause your arrest on the criminal charge. I shall go to Philadelphia, present the will for probate, and proceed against both of you. We have a just claim against you for two hundred and forty thousand dollars. We ask for but one hundred and fifty."
The terms were accepted, for Tom was already under arrest. He informed us then that the stocks and bonds of my father's estate had yielded him an income of nine thousand dollars, and that he had paid three thousand of it to his father. The principal had not been touched. On the following day, Mr. Hale, Tom, and the sheriff started for Philadelphia to recover the funds. They were paid over, and deposited for safe keeping in a bank. The will was offered for probate, and we all went to Philadelphia to attend the Surrogate Court. After a delay of several months, Mr. Hale was appointed trustee of the property, in place of Amos Thornton, whodeclinedthe trust.
When the business was done, my uncle seemed tobe at peace. He had saved money enough from the income he had appropriated to support him. My mother and myself had several conversations with him about our affairs, and he solemnly assured her that he did not know she was deprived of even the luxuries of life. He had never made any bargain with Bunyard, though they understood each other. He had sent the money to pay her board, agreeing to give the agent five per cent. for his services. He had probably made from one hundred to one hundred and fifty pounds a year out of the business, and intended, at the right time, to "come down" on his employer for some thousands.
After the business in Philadelphia was settled, my mother and I went to Parkville. Mr. Hale built a cottage for us on the lake, half a mile from the village. We had plenty of money, and many a poor person in the town had occasion to bless my mother for her bounty. We were happy, very happy, for my mother was all I had hoped and dreamed in the days of my loneliness. I was the "man of the house," and my constant study was to make my mother happy, and to compensate her for the years of misery she had suffered.
I heard but little of Tom Thornton after the settlement; but I learned that Mrs. Loraine, when she found his possessions had melted away, was "not at home" when he called. I was told, a few years later, that he kept a gambling saloon and bar-room in a southern city, but I know not how true the statement was. My uncle occupied the cottage till his death, five years after my mother's arrival. I saw him occasionally, and I had reason to believe that he repented his crime, and found the true peace. In his last sickness, my mother, forgetting the wrongs of the past, was an angel at his bedside. She not only nursed him, but she read the Bible to him, and prayed with him; and finally she closed his eyes in his last sleep.
The Splash was moored in the lake by my mother's cottage, and I cruised about in her with Bob Hale, and often with my mother.
Mr. Windleton procured the appointment of Mr. Loraine as Kate's guardian, and I did not often see her, though she spent a month with us every summer. Two years after Mr. Hale had paid over to me the money, when I was twenty-one, accordingto my father's will, we made it perpetual summer at the cottage, for Kate was duly installed as the mistress of the house. The interesting occasion came off in Madison Place, and we were delighted by the presence of Mr. and Mrs. Macombe, Mr. Solomons, and Mr. Carmichael. Of course Bob Hale "stood up" with me.
As this last event properly ends our story, I shall only add, I believe in Kate, and so does my mother. She always calls me Ernest Thornton, in full. Though the Splash is now a little shaky in her timbers, she is still a good boat; and almost every pleasant afternoon in summer we sail over to Cannondale in her, Mr. and Mrs. Bob Hale being often passengers. We try to be faithful to each other, and strive to be good and true. Though we hope we grow better and wiser with each year that is mercifully added to our span, there is still always something of truth and goodness for us toSeek and Find.