Helen, timid, and startling at every sound, sat near
him, fearing to move, lest it should rouse him.--Her guilty, selfish
thoughts, terrified and haunted her like phantoms.
"There are--some papers," murmured the old man, without turning his
head, and thinking he spoke to May, "papers which I wish burnt."
"Shall I get them, sir?" whispered Helen, while every bad, avaricious,
and selfish instinct in her nature, started to sudden life; "where
shall I find them?"
"On the second shelf--of the closet--where the _wills_ are. They are
records--of sorrows--and bitterness; but be careful, child--those two
wills--the last one, which concerns you--is in--a white--envelope; the
old one--in a brown wrapper. On the--second shelf; mind--the wills."
"Yes, sir!" whispered Helen, while her heart throbbed almost to
bursting, and a wild gleam of triumph shot across her visage, giving it
the fearful beauty of a demon. She would throw the new will amongst
the condemned papers--it would be consumed with them; _he_ would be
silent and cold when it was missed, and could tell nothing; but then,
might not _she_ be suspected? No! she would not burn it--she would
secrete it, and only destroy it in case she was disinherited. These
thoughts rushed through her mind with a strange velocity, while she
went towards the closet; and, just as she laid her hand on a package of
papers, Mr. Stillinghast, suddenly turning, discovered his mistake.
"Come away--come away," he cried, with strange energy, "how dare _you_
go there? Come away.
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