"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; only the 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 pa.s.sage in the Sat.u.r.day 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.

CHAPTER XXVI.

IN WHICH ERNEST RETURNS TO PARKVILLE WITH HIS MOTHER, AND THE STORY ENDS ON THE Sh.o.r.eS OF LAKE ADIENO.

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 Sat.u.r.day 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 proceedings detained 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 a.s.sist 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 conveyed her to a small village in Hampshire, a.s.suring 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 cla.s.s. 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 G.o.d for giving me such a n.o.ble and devoted son," was her reply.

We enjoyed every day of the pa.s.sage 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, e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed, 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 pa.s.sed 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 modesty will 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.