"I certainly can if you insist upon it; though, having more regard for you than you have for yourself, I should prefer to follow your uncle's example, and not say anything about them." "I will not ask you to spare my feelings, Mr. Tom Thornton. Your father went so far, when I insisted upon it, as to tell me that my mother was insane." "She is, poor woman, and I don't wonder that her reason was dethroned," replied Tom, whose face brightened up wonderfully as he spoke. "He refused to tell me anything about my father." "Which was very kind of him. Your uncle is a strange man; but his greatest weakness is his regard for you. It is best you should know nothing of your father; but if you wish to know, I'll tell you." "I do wish to know." "He committed a forgery in London, and died in Newgate before his trial took place. Your poor mother was so grieved that it made her insane. Now you know the whole truth, and you can understand why your uncle did not wish to talk to you about your father." I confess that I was rather startled by this explanation, and I could not help asking myself if there was any truth in it. It certainly accounted for my uncle's unwillingness to tell me anything about my parents. But I would not believe it. It was treachery to my father's memory to do so. "Did he make his will in Newgate?" I asked. "His will! What will? I have told you he had not a penny in the world. Your uncle has ever since paid your mother's board in the insane asylum." "That is very kind of him. Can you tell me where she is?" "I don't know." "I suppose not; and probably it would not be convenient for you to tell if you did." "I would tell you if I knew. If you desire it, I will persuade your uncle to tell you. You keep talking about a will. What do you mean by it?" "I found such a document in my uncle's strong box." "Where is it?" "It is safe." "If there is any such document it is a mere fiction. I don't know anything about it." "You don't?" "No." "All right." "What do you mean?" "Nothing." "Of course when you speak of a will, you mean something by it," persisted Tom. "It's no use to talk." "Why not?" "Because the truth isn't in you." "I speak the exact truth." "No--you don't." "But I do." "You know all about the will. I heard my uncle speak to you about it; and I heard you ask if it was not destroyed. You asked for it, and wanted to burn it then. Don't you know anything about it now?" "You heard all this?" said he, biting his lips. "I heard it." "You dreamed it." "No, I didn't dream it. I heard a great deal more than this. You wanted to destroy the will; but your father said he dared not do it." "Pray, where were you, when you heard all this?" "On the top of the bay window of the library. The upper sash was pulled down, so as to let the air in." "Then you are an eaves-dropper as well as a thief."