“Ah, what success to-day?” asked the elder Mr. Alden, coming in upon them as they were slowly replacing the papers in the secretary, almost hoping, even against hope, to yet come upon the missing papers.
“None, sir,” answered Espy.
“What! no will? Surely you must have overlooked it. Mrs. Kemper you say, Floy, told you there was one—just such as Mr. Kemper had told me he purposed making—and he could have no motive for concealing it. Let me think; possibly he may have carried it on his person. Have you examined the pockets of—”
“No!” cried Espy, starting up with animation. “Floy—”
“Oh, I cannot!” she groaned, hiding her face.
“No, no, assuredly not; forgive me, darling,” he whispered, bending over her; “but may I?”
She gave a silent assent, and he and his father left the room.
In a few moments they returned, Espy carrying a large-sized pocket-book, old and worn, which he placed in Floy’s hands, saying, “This is all we found. It is for you to open and examine it.”
She did so, her tears dropping over it all the time. It contained a little change and a few papers of no great importance—receipted bills, memoranda, etc.
“It is not here; he never made it,” she said huskily, pushing the book and its contents from her. “Ah, father, father, what has your neglect cost me!”