Rage filled his heart; stifling, choking with fury, the disappointed schemer struck the senseless paper with his clinched fist, and ground his teeth at it; then, suddenly, as if by a swift inspiration, he remembered that this accursed will, which would reduce him to beggary, and leave an unknown girl and his hated cousin wealthy, was in his hands; that he and he only knew of its existence. With a sudden revulsion of feeling he sprang to his feet, and held the paper at arm's length and laughed softly at it, as if it were endued with sense, and could appreciate its helplessness. Then he drew the candle near, folded the paper into a third of its size, held it to the candle--and drew it back again, overcome by that fascination which almost invariably exercises itself on such occasions--that peculiar reluctance to destroy the thing whose existence can destroy the possessor. The flame flickered and licked the frail paper; the smoke curled round its edge; and yet--and yet he could not destroy it. Instead, he sat down, and with clinched teeth unfolded the will and read it--read it again and again, until every word was burned and seared into his brain. "Eunice Davenant! Eunice Davenant! Curse her!" he groaned out. But even as the words left his lips a sound rose, the unmistakable tap--tap of something--some finger striking the window-pane. Biting his bloodless lips to prevent himself calling out in his ecstasy of fear, he thrust the will into his pocket, caught up the candle, swept the curtains aside, and started back. The light fell full upon the face of a young girl. CHAPTER VIII. The face at the window was that of a young girl of about two-and-twenty. It would be hard to say whether Stephen Davenant was pleased or annoyed by this apparition. That he was surprised there could be no doubt, for he almost dropped the candle in his astonishment, and fumbled at the lock of the window for some moments before he could open it. "Laura!" he exclaimed, "can it be you? Great Heavens! Impossible!" With a little gasp of relief and suppressed excitement, the girl stepped into the room, and leaned upon his arm, panting with a commingling of weariness and fear. "My dear Laura," he said, still holding the candle, "how did you come here? Why----" "Oh, Stephen, is it really you? I was afraid that I had made some mistake--that I had come all this way----" "You do not mean to say you have come all the way from London alone--alone!" "Yes, I have come all the way from London. Do not be angry with me, Stephen. I--I could not wait any longer. It seemed so long! Why did you leave me without a word? I did not know whether you were alive or dead. Three weeks--think, three weeks! How could you do it?" "Hush! hush! Do not speak so loud," he whispered. "Did anyone see you come in?"