One morning Ruth said to Hetzel, “To-day is the day fixed for theprobate of Bernard Peixada’s will. Do you think it is necessary that Ishould go to the court?”
“I don’t know,” replied Hetzel, “and I don’t care. Yousha’n’. do so. I’ll be your proxy.”
He went to the surrogate’s office. When he returned home, he said,“Well, Mrs. Ripley, the enemy has had his Waterloo! The orphanasylum and the home for working-girls will continue to enjoy BernardPeixada’s wealth.”
“Why, how is that?” Ruth questioned.
“The will fell through.”
“Fell through? Was it a forgery? Or what?”
“No, it wasn’t a forgery, but it was a holograph. That is to say,the testator was rash enough to draw it himself—without the assistanceof a lawyer; and so he contrived to make a fatal blunder. It seems thatthe law requires a person, upon signing his will, to explain explicitlyto the witnesses the nature of the document—that it is a will, andnot a deed, or a contract, or what not. And that is precisely what Mr.Peixada fortunately omitted to do. The witnesses swore that he had saidnothing whatever concerning the character of the instrument—that hehad simply requested them to attest his signature, and then had foldedthe paper up, and put it into his pocket. The lawyer—Arthur’ssuccessor—pressed them pretty hard, but they weren’t to be shaken;and the clerk thereupon declared that the will was void and valueless;and then there was a lot of excitement; and I came away; and that’show the case stands at present.”
“And so the money will remain where it is?”
“Precisely; though I should think the man to whom it once belongedwould turn in his grave, at the thought of the good it’s doing. Thisis the sort of thing that helps one to believe in an avenging angel,isn’t it?”
One Sunday afternoon, toward the middle of September, Ruth was veryhappy. The crisis of Arthur’s illness, Dr. Letzup vouched, had passed.His delirium had subsided. He had fallen into a placid slumber. Withproper care and vigilant guarding against a relapse, the doctor thought,he ought to be upon his feet within a month.
So, it was natural that Ruth’s heart should sing.
But, especially when one is a songstress by birth and training, asinging heart is apt to induce sympathetic action on the part of thevoice. Ruth was seated at the window in the room adjoining Arthur’s,listening to her heart’s song, when, most likely without her beingconscious of it, a soft, sweet strain of melody began to flow from herlips. It was very low and gentle, and yet, as the event proved, it wasloud enough to arouse the invalid from his much needed sleep. The nursecame bustling in from the sick room, with finger raised in warning,and exclaimed in a whisper, “Hush—hush—sh—sh! You’ve gone andwaked him up!”
Was it possible that she had so far forgotten herself? Oh, dear, dear!Her regret bordered upon despair. Yet, with the impetuosity that ischaracteristic of her sex, she could not stop there, and let bad enoughalone, but must needs be guilty of still further imprudence, and marchbodily into the sick man’s presence, and up close to his bedside.
He lay with open eyes looking straight ceiling-ward. But at the momentof her entrance he turned his gaze full upon her, and a happy smilelighted up his wan, wasted face. He did not attempt to speak. Neitherdid she. But she bent over him, and kissed him once upon the forehead,and rewarded his smile with a glance of infinite tenderness.
Then his lips moved. “Was—was it all a dream—my meeting you inPeixada’s office, and all the rest?” he whispered.
“Yes—all a dream?” she answered.
He closed his eyes and went to sleep again. When Dr. Letzup called thatevening, “Better and better!” he cried. “What panacea have youbeen administering during my absence?”
On Saturday, October 18th, the steamship Alcibiades, Captain Gialsamino,of the Florio line, sailed from its berth in Brooklyn, and pointed itsprow towards Naples. Inscribed on the passenger-list were the names:“M. and Mme. A. Ripli.” Monsieur and Madame Ripley were bent uponwintering in Italy. They have remained abroad ever since. Arthur talksin his letters of coming home next spring, though what he will do whenhe gets here, I don’t know, for he has registered a solemn vow neveragain to practice law. THE END.
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