ink over the situation. I was not quite satisfied, and
of course I wished to keep out of trouble just as long as I could.

By this time Tom Thornton had probably reached the cottage of his
father, and had learned what had happened. My uncle had told him that I
had obtained the precious will--that the charter of their villany was
gone. He had found that "that boy" was not to be trifled with. "That
boy" had possessed himself of the fearful secret of their evil
practices, had probed the mystery of their iniquity, and was ready to
come down upon them like an avenging spirit, to expose their rascality,
and to publish to the world the story of their infamy.

How mad, vexed, overwhelmed Tom was I could easily imagine. He had no
more soul than a brickbat, and without a doubt had heaped abuse upon his
father, had berated him for not burning the will, and for permitting me,
by his weak fears, to be a bombshell in their path so long. Before I
knew who Tom was, I had heard hard words pass between them. I now
supposed he was angry because my uncle would not "dispose" of me in
some manner which he proposed.

Tom Thornton and his father had discovered that the evil man shall not
prosper in his way; the sword of retribution was hanging over them, and
their cherished scheme was crumbling to pieces. My uncle was in despair,
as he had been when I left him. Piteously he had begged of me to be
merciful to him; and if he had told me where my mother was, and promised
to do justice to her, I am sure I could not have gone another step to
expose him. But my uncle was an old man--if not in years, at least in
sorrow and suffering. For years he had been pursued by the terrors of a
guilty conscience; had been in an agony of doubt and fear, if not of
remorse. He was broken down, had lost his courage, and there was nothing
to fear from him.

Tom was a different person. He was bold and daring. He had no
conscience, and apparently no fears. He was young and vigorous,
strong-minded and reckless. For years he had been living like a nabob
upon the income of the property which my father had left for me. He had
been swimming in luxury, driving his span, and spending half his time
in winning the favor of the fair widow Loraine, whose fortune, if not
Kate's, he intended to add to his own ill-gotten wealth. Tom Thornton
would not resign his possession of the property, and his bright
prospects of the future, without a terrible struggle, and I was quite
confi