old one--in a brown wrapper. On the--second shelf; mind--the wills."

"Yes, sir!" whispered Helen, while her heart throbbed almost to
bursting, and a wild gleam of triumph shot across her visage, giving it
the fearful beauty of a demon. She would throw the new will amongst
the condemned papers--it would be consumed with them; _he_ would be
silent and cold when it was missed, and could tell nothing; but then,
might not _she_ be suspected? No! she would not burn it--she would
secrete it, and only destroy it in case she was disinherited. These
thoughts rushed through her mind with a strange velocity, while she
went towards the closet; and, just as she laid her hand on a package of
papers, Mr. Stillinghast, suddenly turning, discovered his mistake.

"Come away--come away," he cried, with strange energy, "how dare _you_
go there? Come away."

It was the work of an instant to snatch up the new will, thrust it into
her bosom, and return, pale, trembling, and almost fainting, to his
side.

"I thought you were May; call her here, Helen, then go away," he said,
gently.

"Uncle Stillinghast wants you, May," said Helen, stooping over, and
touching her.

"What can I do for you, uncle?" she said, instantly roused.

"I wish--you to burn--some papers--quick--quick--child. On the second
shelf--there--in the small closet--where the wills are. _Is she gone_?"