THE WILL DISINHERITING FAYNIE.
As soon as the men had quitted the private office Kendale sprang to his
feet and began pacing up and down the length of the room excitedly,
muttering under his breath:
"'Ah, what a fatal web we weave
When first we practice to deceive.'
"It seems to me that there are traps in every direction to catch me. I
must be extra shrewd. I'll have those confounded bells changed at once.
I shouldn't be at all surprised to find an electric bell connected with
that chair at the desk which would call up the entire fire force of the
city if I were to lean back far enough in it."
He flung himself down in his seat again and took up the letter which he
had been perusing and which interested him so.
When he had first broken the seal of this missive his heart had fairly
jumped into his throat; at the first glance he saw that it was from Mrs.
Fairfax, of Beechwood.
He read it carefully through fully a half dozen times. It ran as
follows:
"MY DEAR MR. ARMSTRONG: I wish to extend to you my sincere
congratulations over your good fortune in succeeding to the
business of my dear old friend and neighbor, Mr. Marsh, late of
Beechwood village. I feel as though I know you well from hearing
him speak so continually of you. I am indeed thankful that his
business fell into the hands of one whom he trusted so deeply.
"It was his wish, long ago, that we should meet and know each
other, and in remembrance of this, his earnest and oft-repeated
wish, I now extend you a cordial invitation to visit our home at
Beechwood at your earliest convenience and dine with the family. My
daughter and I will have a most hearty welcome for you. Any date
convenient to you which you may set will be agreeable to us.
"Trusting that we may have the pleasure of seeing you very soon, I
remain, yours very truly,
"MRS. HORACE FAIRFAX, Beechwood."
The bogus Lester Armstrong laid the letter down and looked abstractedly
out of the window.
"Of all places in the world, to think that I should be invited there,"
he mused. "While I have just been wondering how they took Faynie's
elopement--and never hearing from her since--and wondering how in the
world I was to discover all that--lo! a way is opened to me!"
Then his thoughts flew back to that stormy wedding night, and that
midnight scene in the little inn, when the girl he had just wedded,
believing her to be an heiress, revealed to him the exasperating truth,
that only that night her father had disinherited her, making a new will
in favor of her stepmother and her daughter Claire. The plan which
Halloran had laid out was to wait a reasonable time, then put in an
appearance, stating that he was Faynie's husband, and that she had just
died, and claim her portion of the estate. Every detail had been most
carefully mapped out; but here he saw an easier way of gaining that same
fortune without the trouble of litigation--marry the girl Claire.
They would never know anything about that previous marriage with Faynie,
and the dead could tell no secrets.
"I'll go," he muttered. "I shall reply at once, telling her she may
expect me two days hence--let me see, this is Tuesday; I will dine with
her Thursday, and, at least, see what the girl Claire looks like. It
would be the proper caper to gather in as many fortunes as drift my way.
I suppose I shall run through half a dozen of them ere I reach the end
of my tether."
All in due season his letter of acceptance reached Mrs. Fairfax, and she
was highly elated over it.
She had seized upon her neighborly acquaintance with the late Mr. Marsh
to invite to her home the young man who had fallen heir to his
millions, in order that her daughter Claire might win him--if it were a
possibility.
She had succeeded in forcing Faynie to remain beneath that roof, even
after informing her that she was disinherited--dependent upon her
stepmother--by saying that it was her father's wish that she should thus
remain for at least six months.
Mrs. Fairfax's real reason was that the outside world would not know
just how affairs stood in the family until she had had time to turn
everything into cash and get over to Europe to look up another
millionaire widower.
On the very night that Faynie had returned so unceremoniously there had
been a most thrilling scene but an hour before between Mrs. Fairfax and
her daughter.
Unable to sleep, Claire had wandered down to her late stepfather's
library in search of a book.
She was not a little surprised to see her mother there--writing--at that
late hour.
Her footsteps had made no sound on the thick velvet carpet, and she
stole up to her side quite unobserved, looking over her shoulder to see
what interested her mother so deeply.
One--two---three--four--five minutes she stood there, fairly rooted to
the spot, then a gasp of terror broke from her white lips, causing her
mother to spring to her feet like a flash.
"Claire!" she exclaimed, hoarsely, trembling like an aspen leaf and
clinging to the back of the nearest chair for support. "How long have
you been here?" she gasped.
"Quite--five--minutes," whispered the girl.
"And you have seen--" The mother looked into the daughter's eyes
fearfully, not daring to utter the words trembling on her lips.
"I saw you change the--the will!" whispered Claire, in a terror-stricken
voice. "I saw you erase with a green fluid, which must have been a most
powerful chemical, the words of the will, 'to my daughter Faynie' in the
sentence: 'I bequeath all of my estate, both personal and real,' and
insert therein the words, 'my wife, Margaret' in place of 'my daughter
Faynie.'"
The woman stepped forward and clutched the girl's arm.
"It was for your sake, Claire, that I did it," she whispered, shrilly;
"he cut us off with almost nothing, giving all to that proud daughter
Faynie of his. We would have had to step out into the world--beggars
again. We know what it is to be poor--ay, in want; we could never endure
it again--death would be easier for both of us.
"The will was drawn two years ago; I am confident that it is the
latest--that there is no other. I took a desperate chance to do what I
have done to-night--so cleverly that it could never be detected.
"A few strokes of the pen meant wealth or poverty for us, Claire. I am
too old to face beggary after living a life of luxury. You will not
betray me, Claire--you dare not, knowing that it was done for your sake,
Claire."
The girl was not naturally wicked; she had always had a great respect
for the high-bred, beautiful Faynie--her stepfather's daughter by his
first wife. There had been no discord between the two young girls.
Still, as her mother had said so emphatically, it was better that Faynie
should step out of that lovely home a beggar than that they should lose
it.
Claire quite agreed with her mother that Faynie must stay there for the
present at all hazards; it would arouse such an uproar if she were
thrust from that roof just then.
"If my father has expressed the desire that I shall stay here six
months, I--I shall do so, even though it breaks my heart," Faynie had
said.
She kept her own apartments, refusing to come down to her meals, and
Mrs. Fairfax humored this whim by ordering Faynie's meals served in her
rooms.
In vain the old housekeeper expostulated with Faynie, urging her to
come down at least to the drawing-room evenings, as she used to do.
Faynie shook her golden curls.
"It is no longer my home," she would say, with bitter sobs; "I am only
biding my time here--the six months that I am in duty bound to
remain--then I am going away--it does not matter where."
The old housekeeper had tried in vain to coax from the girl the story of
where she had been while away from home.
"That is my secret," Faynie would say, with a burst of bitter tears; "I
shall never divulge it--until the hour I lie dying."