“Well, when I went to the house this afternoon I found that other will, the last one Mr. Thurston wrote for papa. It was stuck behind mamma’s picture where he must have put it when he began destroying the other wills. It isn’t signed, but, of course, I shall have to give it to Mr. Thurston. Perhaps I shouldn’t have read it, but I did, and I knew right away that I ought to show it to you. I thought about it all the way out on the car, and I’m sure it’s the best thing to do.”
“You poor child! I should think you’d had enough of wills, without new ones popping out from behind picture frames. If you’re sure you want me to see it, I’m ready. Let me have it.”
Nan passed it to her grudgingly and rose and left the room. She waited in the dark dining-room, watching the headlight of a trolley car as it neared and passed in the highway below. The time seemed endless. She heard the rustle of paper as Fanny turned the pages. She was reading carefully, and as time passed without any sign from her, Nan knew that she was pondering deeply what she read. Nan remained at the window, pressing her forehead against the cold pane. Deep dejection settled upon her; she had made a mistake; it had not been necessary to make this revelation, which could only cause her dearest friend unhappiness....
She felt suddenly the pressure of a warm cheek against her face.
“Come, Nancy! Come back to the fire and let us talk about it,” said Fanny in her usual cheery tone. “Of course, I never knew of this; never dreamed of any such thing. It’s a strange idea; I didn’t know such a will could be made; but if it was done with Mr. Thurston’s counsel, it must be all right. I should have thought, though, that they would have asked me about it. The responsibility is very great—too great—for any one to take. But, of course, as the will isn’t signed, that’s the end of it.”
Nan turned wonderingly, doubtful whether Fanny had grasped the full significance of those phrases that touched so nearly her own life.
“It doesn’t say anything about my giving a bond; I might have stolen the money!” Fanny continued lightly. “And if I didn’t like your suitors, I might have played the rôle of the cruel father for twenty-five years! My! but you’ve had a narrow escape!”
“Oh, you don’t understand; you don’t understand!” Nan moaned. “Don’t you see; don’t you know what it all means?”
“Yes; I think I do, Nancy. But we don’t need to talk of that. It’s only so much paper, anyhow, and we needn’t bother. The best thing to do is to forget all about it.”
“But I can’t let it go this way! You are far too kind! I must tell you the rest of it—I must tell you what made papa think of this!”