"Go to the trunk. You will find his letter there. It is in the tray, and addressed to me." Ernest found it readily. "May I read it?" he asked. "Yes, I wish you to do so." It ran thus: PETER BRANT. _Sir:_ I have received your letter making an appeal to me in behalf of Ernest Ray, the son of my cousin. You wish me to educate him. I must decline to do so. His father very much incensed my revered uncle, and it is not right that any of his money should go to him or his heirs. He must reap the reward of his disobedience. So far as I am personally concerned I should not object to doing something for the boy, but I am sure that my dead uncle would not approve it. Besides, I have myself a son to whom I propose to leave the estate intact. It is my advice that you bring up the boy Ernest to some humble employment, perhaps have him taught some trade by which he can earn an honest living. It is not at all necessary that he should receive a collegiate education. You are living at the West. That is well. He is favorably situated for a poor boy, and will have little difficulty in earning a livelihood. I don't care to have him associate with my boy Clarence. They are cousins, it is true, but their lots in life will be very different. I do not care to communicate with you again. STEPHEN RAY. Ernest read this letter with flushed cheeks. "I hate that man," he said hotly, "even if he is a relative. Uncle Peter, I am sorry you ever applied to him in my behalf." "I would not, Ernest, if I had understood what manner of man he was." "I may meet him some time," said Ernest, thoughtfully. "Would you claim relationship?" _"Never!"_ declared Ernest, emphatically. "It was he, you say, who prejudiced my grandfather against my poor father?" "Yes." "In order to secure the estate himself?" "Undoubtedly that was his object." "Nothing could be meaner. I would rather live poor all my life than get property by such means." "If you have no more questions to ask, Ernest, I will try to sleep. I feel drowsy." "Do so, Uncle Peter." The old man closed his eyes, and soon all was silent. Presently Ernest himself lay down on a small bed near by. When he awoke, hours afterward, he lit a candle and went to Peter's bedside. The old man lay still--very still. With quick suspicion Ernest placed his hand on his cheek. It was stone cold. "He is dead!" cried Ernest, and a feeling of desolation came over him. "I am all alone now," he murmured. But he was not wholly alone. There was a face glued against the window-pane a face that he did not see. It was the tramp he had met during the day at the village store. CHAPTER III. A SUCCESSFUL ROBBERY. The tramp stood with his face glued to the pane, looking in at the boy. He could not quite understand what had taken place, but gathered that the old man was dead. "So much the better!" he said. "It will make my task easier."