"He is dead, Serena!" she faltered—"dead and gone! And Heaven only knows what is to become of you and me! Not even sufficient means in the house to defray the funeral expenses; and, of course, with his death, the small pension which he received from his professional brethren of the Medical Club expires also. Oh, dear—oh, dear! it was an unfortunate day when I married Fred Lynne and tied myself down to poverty!"
"Well, well, that was long enough ago for you to forget it now," interposed her dutiful daughter. "Mamma"—putting away her mother's arms from about her neck—"whatever you do, don't be foolish. Have you tried to restore him? He may not be dead, after all."
"He is dead. I have done everything that I possibly could before I called any one. When I found all my efforts useless, I gave up in despair, and I screamed so loudly that it awoke Beatrix, and she came to the room."
"Beatrix! Ah!"—with a swift glance of malice into the girl's white face—"and so she heard you? She is always sneaking around where she is not wanted. Mamma, have you—have you read that letter?" pointing to the crumpled sheet of paper which Mrs. Lynne had with great difficulty succeeded in removing from the cold hand of the dead man.
"Yes. It contains the very best news imaginable. It is a letter from that girl's people sending for her at last."
"Impossible! Why, I did not believe that she had any people. But—there is another letter upon the hearth. See! it is burned. I believe papa destroyed it as soon as he read it, for some purpose of his own. How very exasperating!"
Serena was on her knees now upon the hearth, eagerly but carefully turning over the blackened sheet of paper which had been torn in four pieces and cast upon the fire. But the fire was at its last gasp when the deed was done, and the paper had not burned—only blackened and scorched until the contents of the letter were perfectly undecipherable. Serena examined the written sheet attentively, and her face grew dark with intense disappointment.
"How provoking!" she muttered, savagely. "There was, no doubt, something of importance in that letter. I believe in my heart that the news it contained has killed my father. Yet he has destroyed the letter, and there is nothing left to tell the tale."
She rose to her feet and glanced furtively around. Beatrix had thrown herself upon the faded sofa, and was sobbing softly, her face hid in her hands. Mrs. Lynne was beginning to make some attempt at arranging the poor body—an attempt which must be made alone since they were so isolated from neighbors. No one observed Serena's movements. Her eyes glittered with a curious, brassy light. With a swift, gliding movement, she hastened to an old-fashioned cabinet which stood in a corner of the room, and opening it, removed an empty tin box from a shelf. With hands that trembled a little in spite of her efforts to control herself, she carried the box over to the fireplace, and going down upon her knees once more, she lifted the fragments of the smoke-blackened letter and placed them as carefully within the box as though that letter had been worth many times its weight in gold. And so it was. A thousand times over, as Serena Lynne was destined to discover some future day. Securing the lid upon the box, she rose softly, and hastened away upstairs to her own room. Once there, she hid the tin box in her trunk, and locked it carefully. Then, with an inscrutable expression upon her pale, cold face, she glided swiftly down the stairs once more.
On her way back to the apartment where her dead father lay, she paused at the door of Keith Kenyon's room. It was standing ajar, and she ventured to steal inside. He was sleeping heavily under the influence of the strong opiate which Doctor Lynne had given him. Serena stood gazing at the sleeper, her plain face all aglow with rapture, her pale eyes gleaming with a look of devouring love and passionate adoration.