The Mystery of the Sycamore. Wells Carolyn
seen. Have I your permission to talk to Maida, alone?”
“Certainly. Why not? If you can persuade her to marry Jeff, I’ll be only too glad. If you find her determined to stand by her father, then the case remains as it is at present.”
And so, as Maida returned from her walk with Keefe, she was asked to go for another stroll with Samuel Appleby.
She assented, though with no show of pleasure at the prospect.
But as they started off, she said: “I’m glad to have a talk with you, Mr. Appleby. I want to appeal to your better nature.”
“Good! That’s just what I want – to appeal to yours. Suppose you word your appeal first.”
“Mine is simple to understand. It is only that having had your way and having spoiled my father’s life for fifteen years, I ask you, in the name of humanity and justice, to arrange matters so that his latter years of life shall be free from the curse you put upon him.”
“I didn’t put it upon him – he brought it on himself.”
“He never committed that crime – and you know it!”
“What do you mean by that?” Appleby gave her a startled glance.
Had Maida seen this glance, she might have been enlightened. But her eyes were cast down, and she went on: “I don’t know it surely, but I am positive in my own heart father never did it. However, that’s past history. All I ask now is his full pardon – which, I know, you can bring about if you want to.”
“And I will, willingly and gladly, if your father will grant my request.”
“To put your son in as governor with the same political views that prevented my father from voting for you! You know he can’t do that!”
“And yet you expect me to favor him!”
“But don’t you see the difference? Your pardon will mean everything to father – ”
“And to you!”
“Yes, but that’s a secondary consideration. I’d ask this for father just the same, if it meant disaster for me!”
“I believe you would!” and Appleby gazed admiringly at the sweet, forceful face, and the earnest eyes.
“Of course I should! As I say, it means life’s happiness to him.”
“And his consent means just as much to me.”
“No, it doesn’t. That’s just it. Even though father doesn’t definitely help you in your son’s election, he will do nothing to hinder. And that’s much the same.”
“It’s far from being the same. His positive and definite help is a very different matter from his negative lack of interference. It’s the help I want. And I do want it! Do you suppose I’d come here and urge it – beg for it – if I didn’t think it absolutely necessary?”
“No; I suppose not. But I know he never will grant it, so you may as well give up hope.”
“You know that, do you, Maida?” Appleby’s voice was almost wistful.
“I most certainly do,” and the girl nodded her head positively.
“Then listen to me. I have one argument yet unused. I’m going to use it now. And with you.”
Maida looked up in alarm. Appleby’s face was stern, his tone betokened a final, even desperate decision.
“Oh, not with me,” she cried; “I – I’m only a girl – I don’t know about these things – let’s go where father is.”
“No; you are the one. In your hands must rest your father’s fate – your father’s future. Sit here, beneath the old sycamore – you know about the tree?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Never mind that now; I’ve only a few moments, but that’s time enough. You know, Maida, how your mother holds this estate?”
“Yes – she must live in Massachusetts. Well, we do. The lawyers said – ”
“That isn’t the point; this is it. There is another heir.”
“We’ve always thought it possible.” Maida spoke coolly, though a dull fear clutched her heart.
“It’s more than a possibility, it’s a fact. I know it – and I know the heir.”
“Who is it?”
“Never mind for the moment. Suffice it to say that he doesn’t know it himself – that no one knows it but me. Now, you and I know. No one else does. Do you understand?”
His keen gaze at her made her understand.
“I – ” she faltered.
“You do understand,” he asserted. “You sense my proposition before I make it. And you have it right – you’re a smart girl, Maida. Yes, I suggest that you and I keep our secret, and that in return for my silence you persuade your father to meet my wishes. Then, he shall be fully pardoned, and all will be well.”
“You criminal! You dishonest and dishonorable man!” she cried, her eyes blazing, her cheeks reddening with her righteous indignation.
“There, there, my girl, have a care. You haven’t thought it all out yet. Doubtless you’re going to say that neither your father nor mother want to remain here, if my statement is true.”
“Of course I say that! They won’t want to stay a minute! Who is the heir? Tell me!”
“And have you thought what it will mean to them to leave this place? Have you realized that your father has no business interests nor can he find any at his age? Do you remember that your mother has no funds outside the estate she inherited? Do you want to plunge them into penury, into pauperism, in their declining years?”
“Yes – if honesty requires it – ” but the sweet voice trembled at the thought.
“Honesty is a good thing – a fine policy – but you are a devoted daughter, and I remind you that to tell this thing I have told you, means disaster – ruin for you and your parents. Young Allen can’t support them – they are unaccustomed to deprivation – and,” he lowered his voice, “this heir I speak of has no knowledge of the truth. He misses nothing, since he hopes for nothing.”
Maida looked at him helplessly.
“I must think,” she said, brokenly. “Oh, you are cruel, to put this responsibility on me.”
“You know why I do it. I am not disinterested.”
CHAPTER IV
THE BIG SYCAMORE TREE
At the south door the Appleby car stood waiting.
Genevieve was saying good-bye to Maida, with the affection of an old friend.
“We’re coming back, you know,” she reminded, “in two or three days, and please say you’ll be glad to see me!”
“Of course,” Maida assented, but her lip trembled and her eyes showed signs of ready tears.
“Cheer up,” Genevieve babbled on. “I’m your friend – whatever comes with time!”
“So am I,” put in Curtis Keefe. “Good-bye for a few days, Miss Wheeler.”
How Maida did it, she scarcely knew herself, but she forced a smile, and even when Samuel Appleby gave her a warning glance at parting she bravely responded to his farewell words, and even gaily waved her hand as the car rolled down the drive.
Once out of earshot, Appleby broke out:
“I played my trump card! No, you needn’t ask me what I was, for I don’t propose to tell you. But it will take the trick, I’m sure. Why, it’s got to!”
“It must be something pretty forcible, then,” said Keefe, “for it looked to me about as likely as snow in summertime, that any of those rigid Puritans would ever