“The will!” A sudden painful thought had flashed upon her. Espy saw it in her face.
“Well, dearest, what is it?” he asked.
“If we should not find it?”
Her voice was low and husky.
“Then we shall do the best we can without it,” he answered cheerily, turning to the table and taking up a roll of papers tied together with a bit of red tape. “Have you looked at this?”
“No—yes, but only with care enough to make sure that the deed of gift was not among them. But the will—if it is not found, does not the law give everything to father’s relatives? and will not that make this—this secret of mine public?” she asked, speaking with difficulty, as if the subject were almost too painful for discussion.
Espy started, and dropped the packet upon the floor; but recovering himself, stooped to pick it up, saying with determination:
“But we will find it; of course it must be here or somewhere about the house. Cheer up, Floy dear, and let us go to work.”
They spent the greater part of three days at their task. Every paper was unfolded, shaken out, examined and re-examined, every nook and corner diligently ransacked, and thorough but unavailing search made for secret drawers, yet neither will nor deed of gift could be found.
At last they were forced to the conclusion that the deed of gift was irrecoverably lost; the will also, if it had ever existed, which seemed very doubtful.