six months.

Mrs. Fairfax's real reason was that the outside world would not know
just how affairs stood in the family until she had had time to turn
everything into cash and get over to Europe to look up another
millionaire widower.

On the very night that Faynie had returned so unceremoniously there had
been a most thrilling scene but an hour before between Mrs. Fairfax and
her daughter.

Unable to sleep, Claire had wandered down to her late stepfather's
library in search of a book.

She was not a little surprised to see her mother there--writing--at that
late hour.

Her footsteps had made no sound on the thick velvet carpet, and she
stole up to her side quite unobserved, looking over her shoulder to see
what interested her mother so deeply.

One--two---three--four--five minutes she stood there, fairly rooted to
the spot, then a gasp of terror broke from her white lips, causing her
mother to spring to her feet like a flash.

"Claire!" she exclaimed, hoarsely, trembling like an aspen leaf and
clinging to the back of the nearest chair for support. "How long have
you been here?" she gasped.

"Quite--five--minutes," whispered the girl.

"And you have seen--" The mother looked into the daughter's eyes
fearfully, not daring to utter the words trembling on her lips.

"I saw you change the--the will!" whispered Claire, in a terror-stricken
voice. "I saw you erase with a green fluid, which must have been a most
powerful chemical, the words of the will, 'to my daughter Faynie' in the
sentence: 'I bequeath all of my estate, both personal and real,' and
insert therein the words, 'my wife, Margaret' in place of 'my daughter
Faynie.'"

The woman stepped forward and clutched the girl's arm.

"It was for your sake, Claire, that I did it," she whispered, shrilly;
"he cut us off with almost nothing, giving all to that proud daughter
Faynie of his. We would have had to step out into the world--beggars
again. We know what it is to be poor--ay, in want; we could never endure
it again--death would be easier for both of us.

"The will was drawn two years ago; I am confident that it is the
latest--that there is no other. I took a desperate chance to do what I
have done to-night--so cleverly that it could never be detected.

"A few strokes of the pen meant wealth or poverty for us, Claire. I am
too old to face beggary after living a life of luxury. You will not
betray me, Claire--you dare not, knowing that it was done for yo