"You see," he says, icily, "it is the will with which Mr. Langton threatened you the night you jilted me. I am a lawyer, you remember. I drew this up for him at his own request. It is signed by competent and available witnesses. It is perfectly legal, and I can prove it so in any court in the land. It bequeathes Mr. Langton's whole fortune equally between my wife and myself, cutting you off without a shilling." Maud stares at the terrible legal-looking document with frightened eyes and a corpse-like pallor. "You--you are deceiving me," she says, faintly. "If it is really true, why have you kept the will so long and allowed me to usurp the property?" "Through pity and kindness for you," he answers, with cold contempt. "As long as Reine was supposed dead, no one suffered from the fraud but myself, and I was content to be poor that you might have the wealth your soul coveted. But now my wife's claims must be considered above all others." "I would sooner die than be poor!" Maud weeps, wildly. And Reine, taking the legal document between her white fingers, turns her shining eyes on her husband. "Could you be happy with me, Vane, if we had really to live in a cottage and work hard for each other?" she asks, earnestly. "Yes, Reine, I am quite sure I could," he answers, as earnestly. "Then may I do as I like with this paper?" she inquires. "You must not defraud yourself, dear," he says, startled. She laughs--her old, ringing, joyous laugh, with a new tone of tenderness in its musical cadence. "I do not intend to," she answers. "_You_ are everything to me, Vane; Maud may have all the rest." With the words, the white paper flutters in her whiter fingers, there is a sound of tearing paper, and the old millionaire's will flutters in a heap of snowy fragments on the soft, green grass. Then Reine laughs in pretty, childish exultation. "You are the heiress still, Maud," she says, gayly. "I have only Vane. From first to last, he is all I have cared for or wanted." There is a moment's stunned silence, then the ice around Maud's selfish, worldly heart melts in the sunshine of this warm and loving nature. She is conquered by this heavenly forgiveness and love. "Reine, Reine," she cries, in hoarse, half-choking accents, "forgive me for my cruel and wicked denial of you. I know you now. No other woman but Reine Charteris could be so forgiving, so generous, so self-sacrificing." "You have beggared yourself," Vane says to his wife, a little vexed. "I have you," she answers, with a glance so radiant and loving that he cannot but forgive her folly.