ith a desperate effort. "Your father is dead; he died
eleven years ago."

"And my mother?" I asked, eagerly.

"She is a raving maniac in an insane asylum."

This information came like a shock upon me, and I wept great tears of
grief.

"I thank you, uncle Amos, for telling me so much, sad as it is. One
more question and I am satisfied. Did my father leave any property?"

"No," said he.

I fancied that this single word cost him a mightier effort than all he
had said before, though I could not see why it should.

"Where is my mother now?" I asked.

"You were to ask no more questions; and it is not best for you to know
where she is," he answered. "Now, Ernest, I wish you to make your
peace with Mr. Parasyte."

"How make my peace with him?"

"Do what he requires of you."

"I cannot do that; and I will not."

"If you persist you will ruin me," said my uncle, bitterly.

"I don't understand you, uncle Amos."

"Mr. Parasyte owes me a large sum of money."

Here was the hole in that millstone!

"His Institute is mortgaged to me. If there is trouble there, the
property will depreciate in value, and I shall be the loser."

My uncle seemed to be ashamed of himself for having said so much, and
told me to go to bed. I retired from his presence with the feeling
that I must sacrifice myself or my guardian.

CHAPTER XI.

IN WHICH ERNEST IS DISOWNED AND CAST OUT.

I was so nervous and excited after the stirring events of the day,
that I could not sleep when I went to bed, tired and almost exhausted
as I was. I had enough to think of, and that night has always seemed
to me like a new era in my existence. My father was dead; and my
mother, somewhere in the wide world, was an occupant of an insane
asylum. My uncle had told me I had no property, which was equivalent
to informing me that I must soon begin to earn my daily bread, unless
he chose to support me.

I would not even then have objected to earning my own living; indeed,
there was something pleasurable and exciting in the idea of depending
upon myself for my food and raiment; but I was not satisfied with my
uncle's statements. I could see no reason why he should not tell me
where my father had lived and died, and where my mother was confined
as a lunatic. I meant to know all about these things in due time, for
it was my right to know.

I could not help weeping when I thought of my mother, with her
darkened mind, shut out from the world and from me.