"There is another who cares for me, not knowing of this affair, one whom I once thought I could love. Yesterday he wrote me a letter, asking for my heart and hand.
"Last night I wrote him a reply, saying "No," and telling him why. I shall destroy that letter to-night, thankful enough that I did not have time to send it. And my answer will then be "Yes.""
"You have my best wishes for your happiness, little Margery," said Lester, adding smilingly: "And when; the wedding occurs, which I hope will be soon, you may, expect a very handsome present from me."
Long after Mr. Conway and his unexpected visitor had finished their simple breakfast, they talked over the strange situation of affairs, and what was best to be done to avoid great publicity.
"The bogus Lester Armstrong went to Beechwood last night," said the old cashier. "He probably will remain there, as is his custom, until to-day noon. You had better confront him there; meanwhile I will break the amazing story to those of the establishment whom it is absolutely necessary to tell. The rest of the employees and the public at large need never know of the glaring fraud that was so cleverly practised under their very eyes."
Lester had sprung to his feet trembling with excitement, at the information that Kendale had gone to the home of Faynie, despite the fact that Mr. Conway had a.s.sured him that Kendale was not married.
"Only yesterday he told me he contemplated marriage with a little heiress out at Beechwood, and if his wooing went on smoothly he would be a benedict in a few days" time--those were his exact words!" declared Mr. Conway.
"Thank Heaven the mischief has not yet been done," cried Lester, fervently.
He would have started for Beechwood at once, had it not been for Mr.
Conway, who induced him to lie down for a few hours and take a little much-needed rest, explaining that he could not go in that apparel, and it would take some little time to secure suitable raiment, and renovate his appearance.
Lester yielded to his judgment.
Neither Mr. Conway nor Margery had the heart to awaken him, as hour after hour rolled by; he seemed so thoroughly exhausted and his deep sleep was doing him such a world of good, although the complete outfit which Mr. Conway had sent for had long since arrived.
It was night when Lester opened his eyes--imagining his surroundings for the moment but the idle vagaries of a dream.
Mr. Conway"s kindly, solicitous face bending over him soon brought him to his senses, and a remembrance of all that had occurred.
"Oh, Mr. Conway! You should not have let me sleep," he cried. "I ought to have been at Beechwood hours ago; something in my heart--some terrible presentiment is warning me that my darling is in danger!"
"You are only fanciful," returned his old friend. "Anxiety makes you imagine that."
"I hope it may prove as you say," replied Lester, huskily, and in an hour"s time he was on his way to Beechwood and Faynie.
CHAPTER XXIX.
"GREAT G.o.d, IT IS A GHOST--THE GHOST OF FAYNIE!"
We must now return to Faynie, and the thrilling position in which we so reluctantly left her.
As the bright blaze of light illumined the corridor Faynie beheld the dark form of a man creeping toward her.
"Great Scott! Some one must have touched an electric b.u.t.ton somewhere--the wrong b.u.t.ton!" he cried, instantly springing behind a marble Flora--but not before Faynie had distinctly beheld him, being herself unseen, because she was standing in the dense shadow.
"It is he! It is Lester Armstrong!" was the cry that sprang from her terrified heart to her lips, but no sound issued from them as they parted.
She leaned back faint and dizzy against the wall, unable to utter even the faintest sound. "So this is Claire"s lover--the Lester she told me about--whom she is soon to marry! The dastardly wretch who wrecked my life and left me for dead under the cold, drifting snow heap," was the thought that flashed through her dazed brain as she watched him, with bated breath and dilated eyes.
"It was only a false alarm; n.o.body would be roaming through the corridor of this place at this ghostly hour!" he muttered, sallying forth. "It seems that I was more scared than hurt on this occasion.
Now for the library, to find that sum of money which my foolish mamma-in-law-that-is-to-be mentioned having placed there. It"s a daring risk, stealing into the house like a thief in the night to search for it, but there"s no other way to get it, and money I must have without delay.
"It"s mighty dangerous going through this corridor in this bright light.
I wish I knew where to turn it off; the chandelier is too high or I"d do it in that way. I"m liable to be seen at any moment, if any one should take it into their head to come down through the house for any reason whatsoever."
The next moment he had disappeared within the library, closing the door neatly to after him. The next moment he had lighted the shaded night lamp that stood on the table.
Turning out the gas in the corridor, Faynie glided forward like a shadow, and, reaching the library, noiselessly pushed open the door, which he had left slightly ajar.
"What was he doing here?" she wondered vaguely, her eyes blazing with fierce indignation as she stood there considering what her next action should be. He decided, the question by exclaiming:
"Ha! This is the little iron safe she mentioned: of course the money is here, and the will is probably here, too, for that matter, which states that all of the Fairfax fortune goes to the old lady--which means the pretty Claire ultimately. Well, the more money the better; there is no one more competent to make it fly at a gay pace than myself. A prince of the royal blood couldn"t go at a faster pace than I have been going during these last three weeks! Ha, ha, ha!"
In a moment he was kneeling before the safe. To his intense satisfaction the k.n.o.b yielded to his deft touch.
"I shall have less trouble than I antic.i.p.ated," he muttered, with a little chuckle.
Faynie stood motionless, scarcely three feet behind him, watching him intently, with horror-stricken eyes and glued tongue.
She saw him take a roll of bills, and after carefully counting them, transfer them to his pocket.
Heirlooms, too, in the way of a costly diamond stud, sleeve links, and ma.s.sive watch and chain, which had been her father"s, went the same way.
Faynie seemed incapable of interfering.
"Now we will soon determine what else there is here of importance--my time cannot be more profitably spent than by informing myself."
Paper after paper he carefully unfolded, glancing quickly through their contents, and as quickly tossing them back into the safe.
Evidently he had not yet found that for which he was searching so intently.
Suddenly he came across a large square envelope, the words on which seemed to arrest his attention at once. And in a whispered, yet distinctly audible voice, he read the words:
"Horace Fairfax, last message to his wife--dated March 22, 18--."
"Why that is the very date upon which he died," muttered Kendale. "This must have been written just before he committed suicide. Well, we will see what he had to say."
And slowly he read, half aloud, as follows:
"MY DEAR WIFE: When you read the words here penned I shall be no more. I know your heart will be most bitter against me for what I have just done, but, realizing that my end was near, I have done it for the best.
"I refer to the making of my will.
"When a man sees death before him, he naturally wishes to see those nearest and dearest to him provided for, so far as he is able to do so.
"You will remember distinctly the conversation we had at the time I proposed marriage to you. I reminded you that I was a widower, with a daughter whom I loved far better than the apple of my eye.