"Help, help!" she cried.
In another instant Tom Putnam stood between her and his nephew. The lawyer looked from one to the other in amazement; while Patty, panting and breathless, thrust into his hands the will, but could not speak. Frank attempted to snatch the precious document, but his uncle held him off.
"What is this?" he asked. "What does this mean, Frank?"
"It means that between you, you are making a devilish mess," the young man said in a rage; "and I wash my hands of it.—I wish you joy of what you have done."
He cast a scowling look at Patty, as he addressed to her the last words, and, not heeding his uncle's voice, strode off down the street.
"Will you tell me what all this is about?" Tom asked, unfolding the will.
"You can see for yourself," she answered. "It is about that—about your tenant."
"My tenant?"
"Yes," she said coldly,—"Mrs. Smithers."
She turned away, and walked in the direction of her home. She felt the bitterest humiliation in speaking to the man she loved the name of the woman of his relations to whom she dared not think.