Tom Thornton appeared to be making a very diligent search below, for it was half an hour before he came up to the saloon again. Most of the passengers were out on the hurricane deck, or in other places where they could view the scenery on the shores of the river. I had plenty of time to get thoroughly "primed" for the exciting interview I anticipated. As I thought the matter over, I felt that I had the weather-gage of him--that all the advantage was on my side. The will was in my possession, and subject to my order. I had the address of my uncle's London correspondent, and whatever Tom might threaten, he could not deprive me of these favoring points. I could afford to be cool and impudent; and if Tom wanted to talk, I could talk as fast and as much to the point as he could. At last I saw him come up the steps. He was certainly a splendid-looking fellow, though he was evidently a man of the world. He was elegantly dressed, not over-dressed, and his movements were easy and graceful. I could not help thinking of these things, in which he had so decided an advantage over me. But he lacked one thing, without which everything else is vain and valueless--moral principle. He was a villain, and as such I despised him. I could not help noticing that the expression on his face was troubled, rather than malignant; indeed, he really seemed to be more in sorrow than in anger. He saw me when he first glanced around the saloon, and walked towards the sofa on which I was seated. This time he was not savage and violent, as he had been before when I met him. He had something to think of now, and perhaps he had learned that "that boy" was not to be trifled with. "Good morning, Ernest," said he; and it would have been difficult to discover in his tones that he was an enemy. "Good morning, Mr. Tom Thornton," I replied, in cheerful tones, intending to intimate to him that I was master of the situation. "You left home rather suddenly," he continued. "Rather; and I presume you did not think a great while about it before you started." "Ernest, I think we had better come to an understanding," he added, seating himself on the sofa at my side. "I know what I am about, and I suppose you know what you are about," I answered, with easy assurance. "I don't know that we can come to any better understanding." "I think we can," added Tom, very mildly. "I don't believe you know what you are about." "Leave that to me." "Ernest, I know what you have done at your uncle's house," said he, in a whisper, as though he had possessed himself of a valuable secret. "So do I." "You robbed your uncle's safe," he continued, in the same confidential tone. "That depends on whether the safe was his or mine," I answered, readily. "Ernest, it is no use for you to play bluff with me. You know what you have done," he added, rather petulantly; and I saw he was disappointed because he had failed to make an impression upon me. "No one knows better than I what I have done."