“You won’t think me mercenary, my dear husband, or indifferent to your life?”

“No; why should I?”

“Then I am satisfied.”

Mrs. Crawford took the will, and carrying it upstairs, opened her trunk, removed the false bottom, and deposited under it the last will and testament of Dr. Paul Crawford.

“At last!” she said to herself.  “I am secure, and have compassed what I have labored for so long.”

Dr. Crawford had not noticed that the will to which he affixed his signature was not the same that had been read to him.  Mrs. Crawford had artfully substituted another paper of quite different tenor.  By the will actually executed, the entire estate was left to Mrs. Crawford, who was left guardian of her son and Carl, and authorized to make such provision for each as she might deem suitable.  This, of course, made Carl entirely dependent on a woman who hated him.

“Now, Dr. Paul Crawford,” said Mrs. Crawford to herself, with a cold smile, “you may die as soon as you please.  Peter and I are provided for.  Your father died when a year older than you are now, you tell me.  It is hardly likely that you will live to a greater age than he.”

She called the next day on the family physician, and with apparent solicitude asked his opinion of Dr. Crawford’s health.

“He is all I have,” she said, pathetically, “all except my dear Peter.  Tell me what you think of his chances of continued life.”

“Your husband,” replied the physician, “has one weak organ.  It is his heart.  He may live for fifteen or twenty years, but a sudden excitement might carry him off in a moment.  The best thing you can do for him is to keep him tranquil and free from any sudden shock.”

Mrs. Crawford listened attentively.

“I will do my best,” she said, “since so much depends on it.”

When she returned home it was with a settled purpose in her heart.

CHAPTER XXXVII.

Peter lets out A secret.

“Can you direct me to the house of Dr. Crawford?” asked a stranger.

The inquiry was addressed to Peter Cook in front of the hotel in Edgewood Center.

“Yes, sir; he is my stepfather!”

“Indeed!  I did not know that my old friend was married again.  You say you are his stepson?”

“Yes, sir.”

“He has an own son, about your age, I should judge.”

“That’s Carl! he is a little older than me.”

“Is he at home?”

“No,” answered Peter, pursing up his lips.

“Is he absent at boarding school?”

“No; he’s left home.”

“Indeed!” ejaculated the stranger, in surprise.  “How is that?”

“He was awfully hard to get along with, and didn’t treat mother with any respect.  He wanted to have his own way, and, of course, ma couldn’t stand that.”

“I see,” returned the stranger, and he eyed Peter curiously.  “What did his father say to his leaving home?” he asked.