Then, with a rather puzzled and uneasy expression, he turned and walked swiftly back to the house.
His brain was in a whirl, the sudden appearance of the young girl coming on the top of the other causes of excitement bewildered him, and he felt that he had need of all his accustomed coolness. The sudden peril and danger of this accursed will demanded all his attention, and yet the thought of the girl would force itself upon him. He had met her, as she had said, in the streets, and had commenced an acquaintance which had resulted in an engagement. Alone and unprotected, save for an old grandfather, and innocent of the world, Laura Treherne had been, as it were, fascinated by the smooth, soft-spoken Stephen, from whose ready tongue vows of love and devotion rolled as easily as the scales from a serpent in spring-time. And he, for his part, was smitten by the dark eyes and quick, impulsive way of the warm-hearted girl.
But there had come upon him of late a suspicion that in binding himself to marry her he had committed a false step; to-night the suspicion grew into something like certainty.
To tell the truth, she had almost frightened him. Hitherto the dark eyes had ever turned on his with softened gaze of love and admiration; to-night, for the first time, the hot, passionate nature had revealed itself.
The deep-toned “Remember!” which came floating down the lane as she disappeared rang unpleasantly in his ears. Had he been a true-hearted man the girl’s spirit would have made her more precious in his eyes; but, coward-like, he felt that hers was a stronger nature than his, and he began to fear.
“Yes,” he muttered, as he unlocked the library window, and sank into a chair. “It was a weak stroke, a weak stroke! But I can’t think of what is to be done now, not now!”
No, for to-night all his attention must be concentrated on the will.
Wiping the perspiration from his brow, he lit another candle. This time nothing should prevent him from destroying the accursed thing which stood between him and wealth; he would burn it at once—at once. With feverish eagerness he thrust his hand in his coat, then staggered and fell back white as death.
The pocket was empty. The will was not there.
“I—I am a fool!” he muttered, with a smile. “I put it in the other coat,” and he snatched up the overcoat, but a glance, a touch showed him that it was not there either.