Chapter Thirty Eight.

Conclusion.

“Aha!” cried Jack. “I wondered when you were coming to that! It was indeed something of which we could never have thought! Mr Farrell had learnt by sad experience that real happiness cannot be purchased by money, so had determined to leave his fortune to the one who cared for it least—that is to say, to the one who put other things first—love—whole-hearted, disinterested love, such as he himself had felt for his beautiful wife; and honest work, enjoyed for its own sake more than for what it will bring! Ruth was out of the running from the start, for she showed so plainly that, to her, money meant happiness. There must have been a time when he wavered in favour of Druce, who played his part remarkably well; but on the whole, it was my obstinate, ungracious self which approached nearest to his ideal. He knew that I loved you, but that I should never venture to ask you to be my wife if you were a great heiress; so as he himself writes, he left you nothing, hoping that you would share all. I want you literally to realise that, darling—and to feel that the money belongs as much to you as to me!”

Mollie smiled at him in her sunny, candid fashion.

“Oh, I shall!” she said simply. “I mean to. There are so many things that I want to do for the dear people here, and they would like them better if they came from me. Uncle Bernard was a dear, sweet old thing to scheme for our happiness, and I adore him for it. I certainly put love before money, for I would marry you if we had to play an organ in the streets or sing sentimental ditties out of tune, but it will be like a fairy tale to live in the Court—with you!”

“It will, indeed! I don’t feel indifferent to fortune any longer now that it has brought us together. When the Will was read aloud yesterday, I did not know whether I was standing on my head or my heels. I rushed down to the vicarage, and good little Mrs Thornton cried upon my neck, literally she did, Mollie!”

Mollie smiled at him with love-lit eyes.

“But oh, Jack, there’s something else—Victor? What about him? Was he terribly disappointed? Did he get nothing?”

“No! not a cent!”

“Did Uncle Bernard leave no word of explanation or good-bye?”

“There was no note, but there was an envelope and an—an enclosure,” said Jack gravely.

He put his hand in his waistcoat-pocket and drew from his pocket-book an unmounted photograph.

“Druce opened this in the library after the Will was read, stared at it for a moment, then threw it in the fire, and dashed out of the room. It fell on the grate and the lawyer picked it up and gave it to me.”

He held out the photograph as he spoke, and Mollie bent eagerly over it. It was Ruth’s missing picture of the library at the Court—one of the longtime exposures which she had taken on the eventful morning when the desk had been opened in the squire’s absence. The nearer part of the interior was clear and distinct, but the further half was blurred as if something had moved while the plate was still exposed, while leaning over the open desk was a man’s figure, dim and blurred indeed, but recognisable in a flash as that of Victor Druce!

Mollie’s face was white to the lips as she raised it to meet Jack’s glance, and he put his arm round her protectingly.

“Yes; I knew you would be shocked! It is easy to see what happened. After Druce went out, ostensibly for the day, he slunk back unseen, and entered the library by the window. The blur across the picture shows in which direction he crossed to the desk. Meantime, Ruth had put her camera in position, and as the exposure would be a long one in such a dark room, she had gone away and left it there. Druce would never notice the little camera perched on a side-table, and when he heard Ruth returning he, no doubt, hid himself hastily behind the curtains; but he had remained sufficiently long at the desk to give a definite impression of his figure. The camera was discovered after you left, and the squire had the plates developed in the village. He must have had the curiosity to examine them before sending them on, and one can imagine his feelings upon finding the solution of the mystery which had troubled him so much. I have no sympathy for Mr Victor Druce; I am only profoundly thankful that Ruth escaped his clutches. Don’t let us talk of him any more. We want only pleasant subjects on this great night, sweetheart!”

“And there are so many pleasant subjects to think of. It will be such a lovely experience to play fairy godmother to people who have had a bad time; the first of all comes the dear pater. There’s his key in the latch! Be nice to him, Jack; he has been so good to us!”

“Come, then!” said Jack, rising, and holding out his hand towards her. “Let us go to meet him together, and you shall tell him that he has a new son, and that all his troubles are at an end?”

The End.