No one saw the heavy velvet curtains part and an old woman’s face peer cautiously through the aperture. All were too much absorbed in that story of duplicity and deceit on the part of a beautiful, ambitious woman.
John Keith went on, bitterly:
“That letter transformed Louise into a demon, it seemed. She was determined to secure the fortune she had forfeited by her secret marriage. She took her aunt into her confidence, and they formed a clever, dastardly scheme.”
“Ah!” exclaimed Cecil Laurens, with a start.
“You may well start in horror, since you, as well as myself, were a victim of that plot,” said John Keith. “But to return to my story: Louise was not in a condition to make the visit that Mrs. Barry demanded rather than requested. The pretty little madcap, Molly Trueheart, Louise’s step-sister, was tutored to act a part and sent to Ferndale as a substitute.”
“Poor child!” exclaimed Cecil Laurens, beginning to understand it all.
“It was a bold game, for Molly was expected to keep it up as long as the old lady lived; but there seemed no other way possible. Louise was determined that the will should be made in her favor, and sweet little Molly, who had something of the actress in her veins by inheritance, declared that it would be jolly fun to play the heiress,” John Keith said, sadly, adding, soberly: “There was no fault in Molly Trueheart, except that in one thing she disobeyed her instructions.”
“And that?” Cecil Laurens asked, breathlessly.
“Was in her marriage to you,” replied the other. “In the fact that Mrs. Barry had in view a possible husband for Louise lay the greatest danger of the whole scheme. Louise bade Molly repel the chosen man by every scheme in her power, so that he should of his own choice reject an alliance with her, thereby breaking off the match without offending Mrs. Barry.”
Cecil Laurens cried out, remorsefully: