Part 16 (2/2)
Taking out the will which left everything to Margaret Wallace except the 5,000, she held it out in front of Cuthbert Grahame.
He read it through.
”That seems all right. Will you help me sign it?”
”Of course I'll help you sign it--now if you choose, though I've dated it to-morrow, because I thought that would give you a chance to think things over. I tell you that I shan't rest till that girl's back into her own again.” For some moments he was silent, then he said--
”Perhaps I was mistaken.”
”Mistaken about what?”
”Perhaps it wasn't her voice I heard.”
”Man, I tell you you were dreaming.”
”Perhaps I was. If you'd driven her from the door you'd hardly bring me a will like that directly after. Even if you'd let her in, you might have guessed that she wouldn't have wanted to rob you of your five thousand.”
”Of course she wouldn't, any more than I wanted to rob her. We women are not so bad as that, whatever you men may think.”
”Put the will under my pillow--gently--with her miniature. As you say, I'll think things over. Maybe I'll sign it to-morrow.”
CHAPTER XII
SIGNING THE WILL
Cuthbert Grahame did sign his last will and testament on the morrow, though hardly in the fas.h.i.+on he intended. The way in which he was tricked was this.
Before the woman who called herself his wife went down to her breakfast she paid him a morning call. He had had a more restful night than usual, so that he was in an exceptional good-humour.
The sight of her seemed almost to give him pleasure. She was all smiles and sweetness, which were real enough, since she hoped to be shortly in possession of a boundless stock of happiness. He began on the subject directly he saw her.
”I'll sign that will of yours.”
”That's right; so you shall. But won't you wait till after breakfast, then we can have up Jane and Martha to be witnesses.”
Jane and Martha were the two serving-maids whose absence yesterday had been so opportune.
”I'll wait. You'll have to have me propped up a little higher; I shan't be able to sign like this.”
”I'll see to that; I'll do everything I can.” And she did. She communed with herself as she ate a substantial meal. ”Propped up? I'll see he's propped up high enough, I promise him--the higher the better. He can't be propped up high enough for me. It seems a dangerous game to try to change one paper for the other right under his very nose, but I fancy I know how it can be done--and with complete impunity. If he could move so much as a finger it might be difficult, but propped up as he'll be he'll be wholly at the mercy of my two hands. I think they're skilful enough for the job they've got to do.” Spreading out the second sheet of paper on the breakfast-table in front of her, she studied it carefully, with every appearance of complacency.
”Such a little difference and yet so much--only the subst.i.tution of one word for another, and all the world is changed. I think 'whom I have acknowledged to be my wife in the presence of Dr.
Twelves and Nannie Foreshaw' is a positive stroke of genius. It commits me to nothing, and establishes my position, because while he admits his desire to claim me for his wife, there is no reference to any wish on my part to have him for a husband. The only trouble will be to prevent his noticing the difference in the appearance of the two papers, which, however neatly I've done it, is the necessary consequence of inserting those few words. But I think I know how to manage that.”
She did; she credited herself with no capacity which she did not possess. In every respect she proved herself to be fully equal to all the requirements of the occasion.
She returned to Cuthbert Grahame's bedroom so soon as she had finished breakfast, the personification of brisk, hearty good-humour.
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