"You have taken money and valuable papers out of your uncle's safe." "I know it." "You opened it without his knowledge or consent." "I know that too." "And then you ran away from your home." "That also I know." "I was sent for by your uncle--" "By your father, you mean," I interposed. "I said by your uncle," added he, persistently. "I found him quite ill--made so by your bad behavior." "Not much," I replied, when Tom looked into my face to notice the effect of this revelation. "Didn't he tell you he had not slept nights for years; that he had steeped his soul in crime for _your_ sake, Mr. Tom Thornton?" He started, sprang to his feet; but recollecting himself, he sat down again, and tried to recover his calmness. "It's no use for you to tell me, Mr. Tom Thornton, that your father was made ill by my bad behavior. It was your bad behavior and his own that trouble him." "Young man, you talk just as though you were entirely innocent yourself," added Tom, virtuously. "Do you really think you are free from guilt?" "I think I have done nothing more than my duty." "Then you believe it is all right to break into your uncle's safe, and take his money and his papers?" "Circumstances alter cases." "They don't make black white." "Sometimes a man's hypocrisy whitewashes his whole life. Sometimes a man lives for years on his ill-gotten gains, and all the world thinks he is an honest man. Then circumstances make black white." "You are talking of something besides the subject before us. Let us come back to it." "No; I am talking about the subject before us." "You confess that you robbed your uncle's safe." "I admit that I helped myself to certain things in it which I wanted. I am ready to admit it anywhere you choose to place me," I replied, easily and good-naturedly. "Are you aware that you have committed a crime?" said he, more pointedly than he had before spoken. "I don't think I have committed any crime, or even any wrong. If you think so, Mr. Tom Thornton, you are welcome to your opinion." "I do think so," he answered, beginning to be a little excited. "Do you know that I can arrest you, and send you to prison?" "I do know it; and I respectfully ask, Why don't you do it?" "Why don't I do it?" repeated he, apparently amazed at my impudence, and disappointed because an arrest and a prison appeared to have no terrors to me. "Yes, why don't you do it?" "I'll tell you why I don't do it. Because your uncle is weak, and don't wish to injure you. That's the reason." "That isn't the reason. I want to tell you, Mr. Tom Thornton, that nothing would suit me better than to have you arrest me, and send me to prison." This answer vexed him so much that he jumped up, and walked off. CHAPTER XVI. IN WHICH ERNEST MAKES A LANDING ON THE HUDSON.