ery carefully," said my uncle, nervously.

"If he tells me where the girl is, that's all I want of him. If he
don't, I shall--I shall crush it out of him. He will find I am not made
of milk and water."

"You will find I am not, either," I said to myself, as, when Tom moved
towards the door, I rose from my recumbent posture, and hastened back to
my chamber.

I slipped off my pants, and got into bed again, that I might not be
suspected of having left it. I had scarcely done so before Tom entered
my room with a lamp in his hand. I opened my eyes, rubbed them, and
stared at him.

"I want to see you, youngster," he began. "I suppose you don't know me.
My name is Jones."

"If your name is Jones, my name is Smith," I replied, with gross
imprudence.

He looked at me, and appeared to be startled by my sharp and reckless
reply. Very likely he thought me as smart as my reputation.

"Your name is Thornton," said he.

"So is yours," I answered; and I couldn't help it.

He stared at me again. Perhaps he concluded that I had obtained my
information of Kate Loraine, and he knew that I had seen him at her
step-mother's house.

"What have you done with that girl?" demanded he.

"Hold on a moment till I dress myself," I replied, as I jumped out of
bed, and began to put on my clothes.

CHAPTER VII.

IN WHICH ERNEST HAS AN INTERVIEW WITH MR. TOM THORNTON.

FROM my perch over the bay window of the library, I had heard Tom
Thornton express his savage determination to crush out of me the
information he wanted. Being forewarned, I was in a measure forearmed,
and I did not intend to be caught in a vulnerable position. I decided to
do a little light skirmishing before the battle opened. What I had seen
and heard of my assailant gave me a wonderful self-possession, for which
I could not account to myself.

I hurried on my clothing, though I dressed myself with the expectation
of taking a cruise on the lake before my head rested on the pillow
again. Though I felt that it was my first duty to protect Kate Loraine,
and send her to a place of safety, I fully realized that I had a battle
of my own to fight. By their own confession, Tom and his father had
wronged me deeply. If my mother was still living, as I believed she was,
they had probably wronged her a hundred fold more than me. With these
thoughts and feelings, an impulse of desperation seemed to inspire me. I
was ready for anything, but I was astonished and amazed at