He ceased, and in the solitude and stillness of the odorous rose garden it seemed to him as if she must hear his heart beating, so loud and fast were its throbs of anguish. But she was silent, and he turned to go.
"Howard, stay," she murmured, faintly.
He retraced his steps to her side.
"Xenie, what are you doing?" he cried in horror; for she had taken the millionaire's will between her white and jeweled fingers and was tearing it swiftly into the smallest fragments.
The tiny white bits were flying from her hands like a miniature snow-storm.
She laughed lightly at his look of horror.
"John St. John never meant me to have all his money," she answered. "I coerced him into making this will, and he hid it then, hoping, no doubt, that it would never be found. There is an end of it. Let all remain as it was before. You have your share and I mine."
"And your revenge?" he asked, looking at her as if he doubted his own sanity.
"Never speak of it again," she answered, turning from him, while the crimson blush of shame overspread her face.
A wild hope, undreamed of before, darted into his mind. He caught her hand in his.