d, 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