plied or
invested by my legal trustee, in accordance with the law, and the last
will of my father, I should have had no more right to touch it than if
it had belonged to another person. My uncle and his graceless son were
engaged in a scheme to rob me. The latter wished to destroy the will at
once,--supposed it had already been done,--while the former, from simply
prudential motives, preserved it. In his own words, he dared not burn
it. He evidently kept it that it might open an avenue of escape in case
his vicious plan miscarried. After I had been disposed of, sent off and
had "lost the run" of my uncle, the document could be destroyed. I felt,
therefore, that I was fully justified in using enough of the money, at
least, to enable me to obtain justice.

It was nine o'clock in the evening when the train arrived at Albany. We
could go no farther that night, and I felt the awkwardness of my
situation. I did not like to go to a hotel with Kate Loraine; and,
leaving her in the ladies' room at the railroad station, I looked about
the premises till I found a respectable-looking baggage-master, whom I
asked to direct me to a good boarding-house. He gave me the street and
number of one he could recommend, and I called a carriage, which
conveyed us to the place indicated. It was kept by a very worthy old
lady, who fortunately had two vacant rooms, though she seemed to be
suspicious, and hesitated about taking us.

"Who are you?" asked she, bluntly, as she surveyed me from head to foot.

"My name is Ernest Thornton. This young lady's name is Kate Loraine. She
is going to her uncle's in New York. I was recommended to stop at your
house, and I have money enough to pay for all we have," I replied, as
squarely as I could speak, and telling as much of the truth as it was
important for the old lady to know.

"How long do you want to stop?" she asked, apparently satisfied with my
reply.

"I don't know yet. I shall be able to tell you to-morrow," I answered,
for I had some doubts whether I should leave the next day.

"Well, I suppose I can keep you," said she.

"Thank you."

"Have you had any supper?"

"No, ma'am, we have not."

I paid the hackman, who stood with the valise I had bought in Romer for
Kate, in his hand, and he departed. I don't know whether any one thought
we were runaways or not. We were safe for the present. The old lady
showed us our rooms, and then went to get us some supper. I sat down in
my chamber to th