Mischievous Maid Faynie | Page 5

save Claire--not even my
father--loves me."
He strained her to his throbbing heart with broken words, but at that
instant the shriek of an approaching train sounded upon his ears. He
tore himself away from her encircling embrace.
"To do all that I have to do, I must return to the city, quickly arrange
for the marriage and a suitable place to take my bride. I will return by
ten o'clock. Be at this gate, my darling, with whatever change of
clothing you wish to take with you. I will bring a carriage. The way by
carriage road from the city is less than seven miles, you know. We will
drive to the minister's in the village below. A few words and I shall
have the right to protect you through life, and oh! my darling, my idol,
my trusting little love, may God deal by me as I deal with you!"
Those were the last words Faynie heard, for in the next instant her lover
had torn himself free from her clinging arms and was dashing like one
mad through the drifts toward the railroad station again. Then, with a
strange, unaccountable presentiment of coming evil, Faynie Fairfax
turned and stole up the serpentine path into the house again.
In just an hour's time Lester Armstrong was hurrying along Broadway
again, making all haste toward his lodgings. Suddenly some one tapped
him on the shoulder, and a voice which he instantly recognised as his
cousin's said, laughingly:
"Both bent in the same direction, it seems. Well, we'll travel along
together to your lodging house, Lester."
But alas! Who can see the strange workings of destiny? In that instant
Lester Armstrong slipped on the icy pavement, and Kendale, bending

quickly over him, exclaimed:
"He has broken his neck! He is dying. He won't last five minutes!"
CHAPTER III.
A TERRIBLE PLOT AGAINST A HELPLESS YOUNG GIRL.
A gasp of horror broke from Kendale's lips. Yes, Lester Armstrong was
fatally injured, he could see that.
Glancing up, he saw that they were within a few doors of his lodgings.
Picking him up by main force, he carried him thither at once and placed
him upon his couch. He had expected to see him breathe his last, but to
his great surprise Lester Armstrong opened his eyes and whispered his
name.
"It is all over with me, Clinton," he whispered. "I--I realize that my fall
was fatal, and that it is a question of moments with me, but I--I cannot
die until I have told you all, and you have promised to go quickly to my
darling and tell her my sad fate."
"Any commission you have you may be sure I will execute for you,"
replied Kendale, and even while he spoke he was wondering
whereabouts in that room Lester Armstrong kept his cash.
Between gasps, his voice growing fainter and fainter with each word,
poor Lester told his story, of his love, his wooing and the climax which
was to have taken place in two hours' time.
Kendale listened with bated breath. To say that he was amazed,
dumfounded, scarcely expressed his intense surprise.
Armstrong, his poor plodding cousin, to strike such luck as to be about
to marry an heiress! It seemed like a veritable fairy story. Who would
have thought the poor cashier would have known enough to play for
such high stakes?

Almost as soon as Lester Armstrong had uttered the last word, he fell
back upon his pillow in a dead faint.
"The end is not far," muttered Kendale. "I suppose it would look better
to send a call for an ambulance and have him sent to the hospital."
He acted upon the thought without a moment's delay, and while the
wagon was en route made a quick search of his unfortunate cousin's
apartment, a sardonic smile of triumph lighting his face. And as he
transferred the money to his pocket, a sudden thought rushed through
his brain--a thought that for the instant almost took his breath away.
Like one fascinated, he looked down at the white face. "I could do it;
yes, I am sure I could do it," he muttered, drawing his breath hard.
At that moment the ambulance wagon rattled up to the door. In another
instant the two attachés entered the room.
"What is the difficulty?" queried the man, and briefly Kendale
explained.
"It seems hardly worth while to take him to the hospital," said one of
the men; "he would hardly last until we reach there. Still, if you
insist--"
"Yes, I insist," he cut in sharply.
"What name is to be entered?" asked the surgeon.
"Clinton Kendale. He is an actor, and my cousin," he responded in a
low even voice.
He watched them while they carried forth the unconscious man.
"My