"I'm calm enough. I could forgive you for anything you have done to me. If you will not tell me where she is, I shall find her myself." "You cannot find her." "I can apply to Mr. Robert G. Bunyard--and--" My uncle sprang to his feet, uttered a cry of agony, and attempted to stagger towards me; but his legs yielded beneath him, and he sank upon the floor. He had either fainted or fallen in a fit. I called old Betsey, and she and I placed him on a sofa. She said he had only fainted, and wanted to know what had happened. I replied that my uncle would tell her if he thought best. We bathed his head and rubbed his temples till he opened his eyes. "Send for Thomas," said he, feebly. I was satisfied that he would recover, and being perfectly willing Tom should be sent for, I told Jerry where he could probably be found. I then left the house by the front door. My uncle's horse stood at the hitching-post. He had probably employed some one to follow up the Splash, and then returned to the house. As I went out, I saw a large sail-boat standing up the lake, which I concluded was in pursuit of me. Hastening up the hill, I found Bob greatly alarmed at my long absence. "I was afraid something had happened to you," said he. "Drive on, and I will tell you about it," I replied, as I seated myself in the wagon. CHAPTER XIII. IN WHICH ERNEST LEAVES PARKVILLE, AND TAKES THE TRAIN FOR THE EASTWARD. "WHAT kept you so long?" asked Bob, when I was seated. "I was sure something had gone wrong with you." "I don't know whether it has gone right or wrong. I went into the library, and opened the safe again. While I was looking at the papers, my uncle came in." "Whew!" whistled Bob. "There was a storm in the library about that time--wasn't there?" "Not much of a storm. I pity my uncle from the bottom of my heart. He is suffering more than you can imagine or I can describe, and he has been a sufferer for years," I replied. "Well, what did he say to you?" asked Bob, who did not seem to be in the humor, at that moment, for moralizing. I described the scene which had occurred in the library as minutely as I could,--and Kate and Bob were thrilled by the narrative. For my own part I had not yet recovered from the shock it had given me. The expression of agony on my uncle's face haunted my imagination. I could still see his pale face and his quivering lip, and his piteous pleading lingered in my ears. Most terrible are the sufferings of the evil-doer, and I resolved anew that I would always be true to God and principle. What were mines of wealth to a man tortured with the pangs of remorse? "Do you think there is any danger that we shall be pursued?" asked Bob.