CHAPTER XXVI.

"Like some lone birdWithout a mate,My lonely heart is desolate;I look aroundAnd cannot trace, a friendlysmile, a welcome face.Even in crowdsI'm still alone, because Icannot love but one."

Thus a fortnight passed, and under the rigid diet of the strengthening, nutritious nuts and clear spring water Lester rapidly gained strength.

He only waited a fitting opportunity to make a dash for liberty.

Halloran was well armed; he realized that fact, and that he would shoot him down like a dog ere he would suffer him to escape the fate that had been laid out for him.

Therefore his only hope was to get away by strategy. He laid several plans, but each time they were frustrated by some unexpected act of Halloran's.

Meanwhile the latter was pondering over his case, considerably mystified.

"Confound the fellow! he does not seem to grow either pale or emaciated," he muttered. "I could almost say that starving seems to agree with him. I am quite tempted to give him his quietus and end this vigil. Remaining in this solitary hut does not quite come up to my liking. I wonder what Kendale is doing. He promised to let me know how he got on.

"I have not heard from him for nearly a week now. Perhaps they made the discovery that he was not the real Lester Armstrong, and have placed him in limbo; but it strikes me that in such a predicament he would hasten to communicate with me, apprising me of the fact.

"Then, again," he ruminated, "Kendale is thoroughly selfish to the backbone, and if he has successfully hoodwinked these people and is living off the fat of the land and rolling in money, as it were, ten chances to one he has quite forgotten my very existence.

"He ought to have sent me more provisions to-day, and more tobacco; and it is nightfall and no sign of any one."

The next day and the next passed in the same fashion.

By this time Halloran had become thoroughly exasperated.

"This settles the bill," he muttered; "I leave this place to-night. I do not see much need of staying here any longer, anyhow. Armstrong will not last many hours longer; he couldn't; it's beyond human physical possibility."

In the semi-twilight he looked in at his prisoner.

Lester had fallen into so deep a sleep that he seemed scarcely to breathe, and the dim, fading light falling in through the chinks of the boarded window gave his face, which was beginning to grow pale because of his confinement, an unusually grayish pallor at this twilight hour.

"Ha! ha!" muttered Halloran, setting his teeth hard together; "it is perfectly safe to leave him now. He is dying; his hour has come at last."

Turning on his heel he strode into the outer apartment, banging the door to after him, but not taking the trouble to lock it on this occasion.

"As there seems to be little need of my remaining here longer, now that he is done for, I'm off for the city," he muttered; "and a pretty tramp I'll have of it over this barren country road, fully seven miles to the railway station, and hungry as a bear at that."

Again he looked at Lester, to assure himself beyond all possibility of a doubt that he was actually dying.

And again he was thoroughly deceived.

"It's all over with him," he muttered, "and Kendale's secret is safe between him and me, and he'll have to pay me handsomely to keep it; that's certain."

On the threshold he halted.

"Dead men tell no tales," he muttered, "and he would be past all recognition by the time any one came across him in this isolated spot. Then, again, some one might happen to wander this way.

"It's best to be sure; to put it beyond human power to discover his identity, and the only way to secure that end is to burn this place. Ay! that is the surest and safest way to effectually conceal the crime."

He had muttered the words aloud, and they fell distinctly upon the ears of Lester Armstrong, who had awakened at the sound of his footsteps the second time, although he had given no sign of having done so. The words fell with horrible dread upon his ears because of the fact that he was bound hand and foot by an iron chain, fastened to a heavy ring in the floor.

For the last week he had used every endeavor to force the links apart, but they had frustrated his most strenuous efforts.

And he said to himself, if the fiend incarnate before him carried out his intention of firing the place it would be all over with him. The horrible smoke would assuredly suffocate him ere he could, even by exerting the most Herculean strength, succeed in liberating himself.

With bated breath he heard Halloran enter the outer apartment.

And he heard his impatient, muttered imprecations as he fumbled about for matches, seemingly without finding any.

"This is where I put them," exclaimed Halloran, with an oath, "but they are not here now."

After a moment's pause his voice broke the awful stillness, exclaiming:

"Ah! here they are! I imagined they were not far away. One should always know where to put his hands on such things, even in the dark. A whole bunch of 'em; I did not remember that I had so many!"

For the next few moments Lester heard him walking to and fro, apparently dragging heavy articles over the floor, and he knew that he was piling pieces of boards together in the middle of the room to start the blaze.

His blood fairly ran cold in his veins at the thought.

The moments that followed seemed the length of eternity.

Each instant he expected to hear the dull scratching of the matches, quickly followed by the swift, crackling blaze.

With all his strength he strove to rend asunder the heavy steel chain, but it resisted his every effort.

"God in heaven! am I to die here like a rat in a trap?" he groaned, the veins standing out like knotted whipcord on his forehead, the perspiration pouring down his face like rain.

For some moments there was a strange, unaccountable silence in the outer room.

Lester paused in his efforts to wrench the iron bands asunder which bound his wrists, wondering what that ominous silence meant.

The suspense was terrible, yet each moment meant that much of a respite from the horrible fate which awaited him.

What could Halloran be doing? Surely he had not abandoned his intentions to set fire to the cabin?

It was almost too good to be true. And yet that awful uncertainty was almost unbearable.

In the outer room Halloran sat quietly thinking over his plans, match in hand, telling himself that he had better perfect them then than wait until he was journeying toward the railway station.

He would take the first train bound for New York, seek Kendale at once, and have an understanding with him before he would disclose to him the fact that Lester Armstrong was effectually out of his way.

"Yes, that is the only course to pursue," muttered Halloran, and springing to his feet, he struck half of the matches in his package at once, and lighted the pile heaped in the center of the cabin floor.

In an instant after the match had been applied a fiery tongue of flame leaped to the ceiling, lighting the interior of the cabin with a blinding glare of red light.

Seizing his hat, Halloran dashed from the place and down the road, never pausing until he had reached the fork of the roads. Then he stopped for breath and looked back over his shoulder.

A high ridge of ground intervened, completely hiding the doomed place from his view.

He did not even behold the column of fire and smoke, as he had anticipated.

"Those old boards are so damp that it will probably take some time to ignite them, and there's no use waiting to see that," he muttered. "I will be well on my way to the railway station by that time."

He redoubled his speed to get as far away from the scene as possible, for, villain though he was, this was his first actual crime, and his conscience troubled him a little.

Another mile or more he traversed through the heavy snow; then he suddenly became conscious that there were rapidly approaching footsteps behind him.

Great heavens! had Lester Armstrong succeeded in making his escape? No, it could not be. Even if so, he was too weak to run in that rapid fashion. Involuntarily he paused and glanced backward over his shoulder. The next instant a wild, panting cry of mortal terror broke from his lips.

In that backward glance he had beheld a huge black bear, making rapidly toward the spot where he stood, fairly paralyzed with horror.

It dawned upon him suddenly that only a few days before he had read of the escape of one of the most ferocious black bears of the zoological gardens, and, though two days had elapsed and men were scouring all parts of the adjacent places, no trace of the animal had been found, and great fears were expressed of the grave damage the bear might do before he was recaptured.

This was undoubtedly the animal that had escaped which was making toward him with great leaps and savage growls, as though it had already marked him for its prey.

His teeth chattered like castanets; his eyes fairly bulged from their sockets; the breath came in hot gasps from his white lips; his brain reeled, as he took in, in that rapid glance of horror, his awful doom.

Nearer and nearer sounded the hoarse, awful growls; nearer and nearer moved the huge black mass over the white, crunching snow.

The moon was slowly rising over the horizon, rendering all objects clearly distinct to his frightened gaze.

He was passing through a narrow belt of woodland, and like an inspiration it occurred to him that his only hope of escape lay in climbing one of the trees and thus outwitting the bear.

He saw with sinking heart that they were scarcely more than saplings, and whether or not they would bear his weight without snapping in twain he dared not even pause to consider.

With a groan of mortal terror he sprang for the nearest tree. Fright seemed to lend him wonderful strength and agility; he succeeded in reaching the lowest limb as the animal, with glittering eyes and widely distended jaws, reached the tree.

Up, up, crept Halloran, his teeth chattering, his strength almost leaving him as the animal's roar of baffled rage fell upon his ear.

To and fro bent the sapling under his weight, threatening to snap asunder each moment and cast him into the jaws of the enraged beast.

The hours that followed were of such keen, mortal terror that he vaguely wondered that he did not lose his reason through fright.

With fascinated eyes he watched the antics of the thoroughly enraged animal. The bear made many efforts to climb the tree in pursuit of his prey, but the swaying sapling was too slender to give him a hold, and its bark too slippery with its coating of ice to insert the claws, which had been clipped quite close, rendering them almost powerless in taking a firm grasp.

The night had closed in intensely cold, and Halloran could feel his cramped limbs and hands slowly stiffening, but he dared not lose his grip.

The moon rose higher and higher in the night sky, shedding a white, clear, bright light over the snow-clad earth.

He knew that the animal was watching his every movement closely, as each time he shifted his position brought a savage growl from the bear, which was circling round and round the tree, eying him intently.

For long hours this lasted, until the half frozen man, hanging on for dear life to the upper branches of the sapling, thought he should go mad.

With the coming of daylight the bear changed his tactics, lying down directly under the tree, still eying his prey with his small, beady, expectant eyes, as though measuring the time that his victim could hold out.

The daylight grew stronger; slowly in the eastern horizon the red sun rose, gilding the white, glistening snow with its rosy light.

Hour by hour it climbed the blue azure height, crossed the zenith, and then slowly sank behind the western hills, heralding the oncoming of another night.

Still the brute, with almost incredible cunning, sat in the same position under the tree, watching Halloran's every move.

"God rescue me!" he cried, lifting his white face to the Heaven he had so offended.

"If I pass another night here I shall go mad—mad!"

He was famished with hunger, numb with cold, and his mouth and throat were dry with unconquerable thirst.

In those hours of suffering he thought of Lester Armstrong, and of the awful fate he had doomed him to. He realized by his own experience of a few hours what he must have endured, and a bitter groan of remorse broke from his clammy lips.

"This is Heaven's punishment," he cried. "Oh, Lester Armstrong. God has surely avenged you! If I could but atone; if it were to be done over again, I would have no hand in the atrocious crime that has dyed my hands just as surely as though I had plunged a knife into your heart!"

In his haste on leaving the cabin he had not taken time to secure his revolver; he had no weapon; he was doomed to meet the same fate that he had meted out to Lester Armstrong—starve to death slowly, hour by hour—knowing that when he was too weak to hold longer to the branch he would fall.

Oh, God in heaven! fall into the gaping jaws of the enraged animal that was waiting to receive him.

He had led too wicked a life to pray; he did not know a prayer; he could only raise his agonized eyes to the far-off sky, wondering how long his awful torture could last-how long he would be able to hold out—how long.

He felt his blood slowly turning to ice in his veins, and slowly and surely the dusk deepened and the darkness of another night fell over the world.

There never was a night so long that another day did not dawn—at last—and when the morrow's light broke, Halloran was slowly but surely collapsing—giving himself up to the horrible doom that awaited him—for the bear had not quitted his position under the tree, nor had he taken his eyes off his intended victim for a single moment.

As the sun rose, Halloran watched it with dazed, bloodshot eyes, exclaiming:

"Good-by, golden sun, I shall never see you set, nor witness you rise again upon another day. I—" the sentence was never finished, for over the snowy waste rang a voice like a bugle blast:

"Keep quiet, take heart, help is at hand; I am going to shoot the animal and deliver you," and simultaneously with the voice four shots in rapid succession rang out upon the early morning air.

There was a wild howl of pain, a terrible roaring bellow, a sudden dash toward a dark figure hurriedly approaching, two more shots, and the bear rolled over dying beyond power to harm, his red blood dyeing the white snow in great pools. Halloran knew no more. His strength and endurance seemed suddenly to leave him, darkness closed in about him, his hold loosened and he fell backward down, down through space.

He did not know that a pair of strong arms caught him, thus saving him from a broken neck. When he opened his eyes a few moments later, to his intense surprise he found Lester Armstrong bending over him, and the sight rendered him fairly dumb with amazement.

Before he could ask questions that sprang to his lips, Lester explained to him that owing to the dampness of the place, the fire Halloran had kindled had quickly gone out, thus saving the young man from being burned to death. He told him, too, why death had not come to him through starvation, as had been intended, and that it had taken him all that time to force apart the links of the chain, when he found that there was no one to hear or prevent, no matter how much noise he made in so doing.

He had seen the revolver, which had been forgotten, and little imagining it would be of such vital use, had thrust it in his pocket and started forth to make his way back to New York, when he unexpectedly came upon the scene of the bear under the tree, and a fellow-being in deadly peril.

"You saved me—me," cried Halloran, huskily, "your deadly foe, who tried to rob you of your life."

"It was my duty, 'Vengeance is mine, saith the Lord,'" quoted Lester, quietly.

Halloran fell on his knees, covering the other's hands with passionate kisses, tears falling like rain from his eyes.

"From this hour the life that you have saved shall be devoted to you—and God!" he cried brokenly. "Oh, will Heaven ever forgive me for the past? There are two bullets left in the revolver; you ought to shoot me dead at your feet, Lester Armstrong. I deserve it."

Lester shook his head.

"Do better with your life than you have done in the past," he said.

Halloran tried to rise to his feet, but fell back exhausted on the snow.

"I cannot walk," he gasped. "I—I am sure my limbs are frozen."

With a humane kindness that won him Halloran's gratitude to his dying day, Lester helped him to the railway station, and to board the incoming train, taking him to a hospital when they reached New York City.

Halloran had lapsed into unconsciousness, but Lester was too kind of heart to desert him in his hour of need.

The clock was striking five as Lester left the hospital.

On the pavement he paused, asking himself if he could go to a hotel presenting that soiled, unkempt appearance. Then like an inspiration it occurred to him that the best place in the world to go to was Mr. Conway's; and he put the thought into execution at once, reaching there nearly an hour later.

Mr. Conway and Margery were just sitting down to breakfast as he rang the bell of the humble little cottage.

Mr. Conway answered the summons.

The scene which followed can better be imagined than described.

It was hard to convince father and daughter, at first, that in telling his story he was not attempting to play some practical joke upon them.

That he had a cousin who so cleverly resembled him that even those who had known Lester intimately for long years should be so cleverly deceived by him seemed almost incredible. Margery hid her face in her trembling hands while her father gave Lester a full account of what had transpired, while the latter's emotion was great; and his distress intense, upon learning that Kendale had dared betroth himself to Margery in his name, and that the gentle-hearted girl had learned to care for the scamp, despite her repugnance to him at first.

Lester thought it best, under the circumstances, to confide in full to Margery and her father concerning his own love affair, lest they might expect him to carry out the contract his cousin had made in regard to marrying his old friend's pretty daughter.

Margery's next words, however, set his troubled heart at rest in that respect.

She looked up at him suddenly through her tears, saying shyly:

"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 assured 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.

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 button somewhere—the wrong button!" 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; nobody 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 knob yielded to his deft touch.

"I shall have less trouble than I anticipated," 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 massive 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."I told you that this daughter would succeed to all my wealth, if she lived, when time was no more with me; that no being on earth could ever change my views in this regard—ay, in fulfilling my duty."I asked you to marry me, knowing fully my intention in this matter, stating at the time that I would give you in cash an ample sum of money, which, if used frugally and judiciously, should last you the remainder of your natural life, providing you outlived me."You accepted me under those conditions; you married me, and I, as agreed, gave to you in a lump sum the money stipulated."It is needless to recall to you the fact that our wedded life has been a failure. You have made my life miserable—ay, and that of my sweet, motherless, tender little Faynie, until, in sheer desperation, she has fled from her home on the night I write this, and my grief is more poignant than I can well endure."You must feign neither surprise nor indignation when it is learned that my will gives all my fortune to Faynie, save the amount set aside for you."HORACE FAIRFAX."

"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.

"I told you that this daughter would succeed to all my wealth, if she lived, when time was no more with me; that no being on earth could ever change my views in this regard—ay, in fulfilling my duty.

"I asked you to marry me, knowing fully my intention in this matter, stating at the time that I would give you in cash an ample sum of money, which, if used frugally and judiciously, should last you the remainder of your natural life, providing you outlived me.

"You accepted me under those conditions; you married me, and I, as agreed, gave to you in a lump sum the money stipulated.

"It is needless to recall to you the fact that our wedded life has been a failure. You have made my life miserable—ay, and that of my sweet, motherless, tender little Faynie, until, in sheer desperation, she has fled from her home on the night I write this, and my grief is more poignant than I can well endure.

"You must feign neither surprise nor indignation when it is learned that my will gives all my fortune to Faynie, save the amount set aside for you.

"HORACE FAIRFAX."

"Well! By all that's wonderful, if this isn't a pretty how-do-you-do. Mrs. Fairfax and her girl are penniless, and I came so near marrying Claire. I have found this thing out quite in the nick of time. The girl is clever enough, but it takes money, and plenty of it, to make me put my head into the yoke of matrimony.

"I must find this will he speaks of. It will be here unless the woman has been shrewd enough to destroy it, and women never are clever enough to burn their telltale bridges which lie behind them, and that's how they get found out—at last.

"I see through the whole thing now. Mrs. Fairfax trumped up a will in favor of herself, a brilliant scheme. I admire her grit immensely. Ah, yes, here is the real will, in the same handwriting as the letter. Yes, it gives all to his daughter Faynie. And here is the spurious one, a good imitation, I admit, still an expert could easily detect the handwriting of Mrs. Fairfax from beginning to end—signature and all.

"I think I will take charge of this one giving all the Fairfax wealth to Faynie."

But he did not succeed in transferring it to his pocket, for like a flash it was snatched from his hand.

With a horrible oath, Kendale wheeled about.

One glance, and his eyes fairly bulged from their sockets, his face grew ashen white, his teeth chattered, and the blood in his veins seemed suddenly to turn to ice.

"Great Heaven! It is a ghost!" he yelled at the top of his voice; "the ghost of Faynie!"

The sound of that hoarse, piercing, awful cry echoed and re-echoed to every portion of the house, and in less time than it takes to relate it, the servants in a body, headed by Mrs. Fairfax and Claire, were rushing toward the library, from whence the sound proceeded.

One glance as they reached the open doorways, and a cry of consternation broke from Mrs. Fairfax's lips, which was faintly echoed by her daughter Claire.

The servants were too astounded at the sight that met their gaze to believe the evidence of their own eyes.

Mrs. Fairfax was the first to recover herself.

"What is the meaning of this!" she exclaimed, striding forward and facing Faynie and the horror-stricken man who stood facing her, his teeth chattering, as he muttered:

"It is her ghost!—her ghost!"

"Faynie Fairfax, why do I find you here, in the library, in the dead of the night, in the company of the man who is to wed my daughter Claire, and who parted from her scarcely two hours since, supposedly to leave the house? Why are you two here together! Explain this most extraordinary and most atrocious scene at once. I command you!" she cried, her voice rising to a shrill scream in her rising anger.

Faynie turned a face toward her white as a marble statue, but no word broke from her lips.

The presence of the others seemed to bring Kendale back to his senses.

"It means," spoke Faynie, after a full moment's pause, "that the hour has come in which I must confess to all gathered here the pitiful story I have to tell, and which will explain what has long been an unsolved mystery to you—where, how and with whom I spent the time from the hour in which I left this roof until I returned to it.

"You say that this is the man who is your daughter's lover, Mrs. Fairfax—the man who is soon to marry Claire.

"I declare that this marriage can never be, because this man has a living wife," she cried, in a high, clear voice.

"It is false!" shrieked Kendale. "The girl I married in the old church is dead—dead, I tell you. I—I saw her buried with my own eyes!"

"She is not dead, for I am that unfortunate girl," answered Faynie, in a voice that trembled with agonized emotion.

"Listen all, while I tell my story," she sobbed. "Surely the saddest, most pitiful story a young girl ever had to tell."

Then, in a panting voice, she told her horrified listeners all, from the beginning to the very end, omitting not the slightest detail, dwelling with a pathos that brought tears to every eye, of how she had loved him up to the very hour he had come for her to elope with him; her horror and fear of him growing more intense because of the marriage he forced her into, with the concealed revolver pressed so close to her heart she dared not disobey his slightest command.

And how the conviction grew upon her that he was marrying her for wealth only, and the inspiration that came to her to test his so-called love by telling him that she had been disinherited, though she was confident that her father had made his will in her favor, leaving her his entire fortune.

Dwelling with piteous sobs on how he had then and there struck her down to death, as he supposed, and that he had made all haste to make away with her; and that she would at that moment have been lying in an unmarked grave, under the snowdrifts, if Heaven had not most miraculously interfered and saved her.

Faynie ended her thrilling recital by adding that she had not known, until that hour, that this man was Claire's lover, because they had refrained from mentioning the name of the man in her presence. How she had come to the library in search of a book and had encountered him stealing through the halls, a veritable thief in the dead of the night, bent upon securing a sum of money which he had learned in some way was in the safe, and that he now had it in his pocket, and that she had prevented him from securing her father's will by snatching it from his grasp.

Mrs. Fairfax had fallen back, trembling like an aspen leaf. She recognized her husband's will in Faynie's hands, and that, although the girl did not say so before the servants, she knew her treachery.

"Come, Claire, my child," she said, turning to her daughter, "this is no place for you."

But Claire did not stir; she stood quite still, looking from the one to the other, as though she could not fully comprehend all that she saw and heard.

By this time Kendale had recovered from his shock, and as he listened to Faynie's recital, realized that she was not indeed a ghost, but the heiress of the Fairfax millions, and his own wife at that. And when he found his voice he cried out:

"The girl tells the truth! She is mine, and as her husband I am lord and master of this house, and of her."

As he uttered the words he strode toward Faynie with a diabolical chuckle, and seized her slender wrists in his grasp.

"Unhand me!" shrieked Faynie, struggling frantically in his grasp, almost fainting with terror.

"No one dares interfere between man and wife," replied Kendale, mockingly.

He did not see three dark forms spring over the threshold, thrusting the servants hastily aside.

But in less time than it takes to tell it, a strong arm thrust him aside, and a tall form sprang between him and Faynie, while a voice that struck terror to his very soul cried out:

"You have come to the end of your rope, Clinton Kendale. You have lost the game, while it was almost in your grasp!"

"Great Heaven, is it you, Lester Armstrong!" cried the guilty villain, fairly quivering with terror. "Oh, Lester, have pity—have mercy—I—"

"You shall have the same quality of mercy dealt out to you that you have meted out to others!" replied Lester, sternly.

Suddenly Kendale wrenched himself free from his grasp, crying out, hoarsely and triumphantly:

"I am game yet. I have married the girl you love. She is my lawfully wedded wife. I have lost the Marsh millions, but you are checkmated, Lester Armstrong. I have the Fairfax fortune, and your Faynie!"

"Don't delude yourself into believing so prettily an arranged scheme," exclaimed a voice from the doorway, and a woman whom Kendale had not noticed among the crowd before glided hastily forward, threw back her veil, confronting the villain.

"Gertrude!" he cried aghast, staggering back.

"Yes, Gertrude, your wife," she replied. "Your wife, though you tried hard to induce me to go to Dakota and secure a divorce from you. I had instituted it and would soon have obtained it had I not read in the papers of the great fortune you had fallen into, for you had told me your cousin Lester Armstrong was dead, and you were to take his name and place as assistant cashier—no one knowing of his death, and you could easily pass yourself off for him owing to your wonderful resemblance to each other.

"For my sake," she added, "Mr. Armstrong has promised to let you go free, providing you go with me."

"It is false!" shouted Kendale. "All you say is a lie, woman!"

"The man who accompanied us to the altar a year ago is here," he said. "He has with him my marriage certificate," pointing toward some one on the threshold, adding, "come forward, please."

And Halloran, who had left a sickbed to accompany her, came slowly forward.

"So you are against me, too!" cried Kendale. "Then all is up, indeed. I acknowledge that all that has been said is true. I had a few weeks of a gay, merry life, and I'm not sorry, either. Come, Gertrude!"

And without a backward glance they slowly left the Fairfax mansion.

The reuniting of Faynie and her lover was extremely affecting, and within an hour a minister was called in who made them one forevermore.

Mrs. Fairfax and her daughter were offered a home for life, but they chose to leave the following day. Faynie and Lester had gone through many thrilling experiences, but were happily reunited—at last.

No. 1113 ofThe New Eagle Series, entitled "In Love's Name," by Emma Garrison Jones, is a story that tells of a romance that, after many sufferings, ends in a happy marriage feast.

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If not, you have a treat in store for you.

LOVE STORY MAGAZINE is devoted to the publication of clean, wholesome romances.

LOVE STORY MAGAZINE is developing a staff of writers each of which is destined to become famous.

LOVE STORY MAGAZINE is really so good that it deserves your immediate investigation—that is, if you like agoodlove story.

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Look up the books by Charles Garvice, in the New Eagle Series. There are many of them, but not a dull one in the lot.So, if you want a splendid love story with a dash of adventure interwoven, investigate the works of Charles Garvice, the king of love-story writers.Novels by unknown authors are virtually foisted upon the public by certain book publishers. If the books succeed, the public pays; if not, the publisher does and tries all over again.Why take a chance of getting two cents' worth of reading for two dollars, when you can get two dollars' worth for twenty cents, every time, without risk?Your dealer has or will be glad to get the Garvice books for you. Ask him.

Look up the books by Charles Garvice, in the New Eagle Series. There are many of them, but not a dull one in the lot.

So, if you want a splendid love story with a dash of adventure interwoven, investigate the works of Charles Garvice, the king of love-story writers.

Novels by unknown authors are virtually foisted upon the public by certain book publishers. If the books succeed, the public pays; if not, the publisher does and tries all over again.

Why take a chance of getting two cents' worth of reading for two dollars, when you can get two dollars' worth for twenty cents, every time, without risk?

Your dealer has or will be glad to get the Garvice books for you. Ask him.

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