CHAPTER XVI.
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."