dangerous; avoid them. Wine is still worse, and above
all, let me warn you against womankind. They are a snare and a delusion.
Avoid them, one and all, as you would a pestilence."
But the warning had come to the handsome young assistant cashier too
late.
CHAPTER II.
"YOU MUST NOT MARRY HIM--HEAVEN INTENDED YOU FOR ME."
Slowly but surely the sturdy engine struggled on through the huge
snowdrifts, reaching Beechwood a little after seven, over an hour and a
half behind time.
Lester Armstrong swung himself off the rear platform into fully five
feet of snow, floundering helplessly about for an instant, while the
train plunged onward, and at last struck the path that led up over the
hills in the village beyond.
Beechwood consisted of but a few elegant homes owned and occupied by
retired New Yorkers of wealth. Horace Fairfax was perhaps the most
influential, as well as the wealthiest of these; his magnificent home on
the brow of the farthest hill was certainly the most imposing and
pretentious.
Lester Armstrong's heart gave a great bound as he came within sight of
it, standing like a great castle, with its peaks and gables, and windows
all blazing with light and the red glow of inward warmth against its
dark background of fir trees more than a century old, and the white
wilderness of snow stretching out and losing itself in the darkness
beyond.
All heedless of the terrible storm raging about him, the young man
paused at the arched gate and looked with sad wistfulness, as he leaned
his arms on one of the stone pillars, up the serpentine path that led to
the main entrance.
"What I ought to do is never to see Faynie again," he murmured, but as
the bare thought rushed through his mind, his handsome face paled to the
lips and his strong frame trembled. Never see Faynie again! That would
mean shut out the only gleam of sunshine that had ever lighted up the
gray somberness of his existence; take away from him the only dear joy
that had made life worth the living for the few months. He had drifted
into these clandestine meetings, not by design; chance, or fate, rather,
had forced him into it.
Mr. Marsh, the senior member of the firm by whom he was employed, also
resided in Beechwood. It was his whim that the keys of the private
office should be brought to him each night. Thus it happened that the
performance of his duties led Lester each evening past the Fairfax home.
One summer evening he espied Fayn
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