Nothing was withheld, neither was the deception defended; a concise, simple statement of facts was made; but when the story was all told the fond, yet timid, wife and mother poured out a wealth of love for the child of her adoption, and pleaded with a pathetic earnestness that would melt the coldest heart that her sin might not be visited upon the innocent little daughter whom they both so dearly loved, but that her husband, even though he had been secretly wronged and deceived, would still continue to tenderly cherish her and never allow her to know the story of her desertion, or that she was not their own flesh and blood.
“Humph! My wealthy and aristocratic banker, you were smart in certain directions, but you were inclined to neglect the burning of your bridges behind you,” sneered Hubbard, as he finished reading. “Doubtless that was what he meant to do, and that was why he sent Winchester here to get the things to-day? Gad! but it is a queer complication of circumstances—his dying so suddenly just at this time, these papers falling into my hands, and the sweeping of that young upstart from my path—that has conspired to throw the power for which I have been scheming for so many years directly into my hands in a way I least expected.”
He sat for a long time absorbed in thought, his sinister face changing in expression with the working of his mind, and plainly betraying that he was plotting some deep and villainous scheme.
“If she can be persuaded to marry me as soon as she finishes her education everything can be quietly settled just to my liking; and then, John Hubbard, you may play the high-toned gentleman to your heart’s content for the remainder of your life. But if she should be obstinate and refuse me——”
An ugly scowl contracted his brow as he abruptly paused at this point, while his eyes fastened themselves with an ugly glitter in their depths upon the box whose sacred secrets he had just fathomed. Then once more he fell into a fit of musing, which lasted a long while.
Finally he arose, and, making his way again to the vault—which he reopened with Mr. Brewster’s key—he sought the banker’s private drawer, removing it, and taking it, with its contents, back to the office, when he reseated himself and began to examine the papers within it.
He finally found what he was in search of—a legal document, which he drew from its envelope, unfolded, and began to study attentively. After he had read it through he went back to the first page, which he deliberately detached from the others; then, procuring another sheet of paper exactly like it, he proceeded to copy it, with a fountain-pen, which he always carried with him in a hand which showed that the entire document had been written by him, but making certain changes in the phraseology to suit himself.
“There!” he observed, with an air of satisfaction as he finished his work; “that will fix things just as I want them—for the present.”
He then refolded the paper, inclosed it in a fresh envelope, sealed it with red wax, and wrote across the top of it in a bold, clear hand, “Last will and testament of Adam Brewster.”
This he replaced in the drawer, which he carried back to its place in the vault; then, making everything secure inside the bank, he left the building, taking with him the two boxes which he had previously wrapped in strong brown paper.