LITMIR.BIZ

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smiled. “He knows perfectly how you feel.”

      “But, truly, mother, don’t you think dad could – well, not do anything wrong – but just give in to Mr. Appleby – for – for my sake?”

      “Maida – dear – that is our only stumbling-block. Your father and I would not budge one step, for ourselves – but for you, and for Jeffrey – oh, my dear little girl, that’s what makes it so hard.”

      “For us, then – father, can’t you – for our sake – ”

      Maida broke down. It wasn’t for her sake she was pleading – nor for the sake of her lover. It was for the sake of her parents – that they might remain in comfort – and yet, comfort at the expense of honesty? Oh, the problem was too great – she hadn’t worked it out yet.

      “I can’t think,” her father’s grave voice broke in on her tumultuous thoughts. “I can’t believe, Maida, that you would want my freedom at the cost of my seared conscience.”

      “No, oh, no, father, I don’t – you know I don’t. But what is this dreadful thing you’d have to countenance if you linked up on the Appleby side? Are they pirates – or rascals?”

      “Not from their own point of view,” and Dan Wheeler smiled. “They think we are! You can’t understand politics, child, but you must know that a man who is heart and soul in sympathy with the principles of his party can’t conscientiously cross over and work for the other side.”

      “Yes, I know that, and I know that tells the whole story. But, father, think what there is at stake. Your freedom – and – ours!”

      “I know that, Maida dear, and you can never know how my very soul is torn as I try to persuade myself that for those reasons it would be right for me to consent. Yet – ”

      He passed his hand wearily across his brow, and then folding his arms on the table he let his head sink down upon them.

      Maida flew to his side. “Father, dearest,” she crooned over him, as she caressed his bowed head, “don’t think of it for a minute! You know I’d give up anything – I’d give up Jeff – if it means one speck of good for you.”

      “I know it, dear child, but – run away, now, Maida, leave me to myself.”

      Understanding, both Maida and her mother quietly left the room.

      “I’m sorry, girlie dear, that you have to be involved in these scenes,” Mrs. Wheeler said fondly, as the two went to the sitting-room.

      “Don’t talk that way, mother. I’m part of the family, and I’m old enough to have a share and a voice in all these matters. But just think what it would mean, if father had his pardon! Look at this room, and think, he has never been in it! Never has seen the pictures – the view from the window, the general coziness of it all.”

      “I know, dear, but that’s an old story. Your father is accustomed to living only in his own rooms – ”

      “And not to be able to go to the other end of the dining-room or living-room, if he chooses! It’s outrageous!”

      “Yes, Maida, I quite agree – but no more outrageous than it was last week – or last year.”

      “Yes, it is! It grows more outrageous every minute! Mother, what did that old will say? That you must live in Massachusetts?”

      “Yes – you know that, dear.”

      “Of course I do. And if you lived elsewhere, what then?”

      “I forfeit the inheritance.”

      “And what would become of it?”

      “In default of any other heirs, it would go to the State of Massachusetts.”

      “And there are no other heirs?”

      “What ails you, Maida? You know all this. No, there are no other heirs.”

      “You’re sure?”

      “As sure as we can be. Your father had every possible search made. There were advertisements kept in the papers for years, and able lawyers did all they could to find heirs if there were any. And, finding none, we were advised that there were none, and we could rest in undisturbed possession.”

      “Suppose one should appear, what then?”

      “Then, little girl, we’d give him the keys of the house, and walk out.”

      “Where would we walk to?”

      “I’ve no idea. In fact, I can’t imagine where we could walk to. But that, thank heaven, is not one of our troubles. Your father would indeed be desperately fixed if it were! You know, Maida, from a fine capable business man, he became a wreck, because of that unjust trial.”

      “Father never committed the forgery?”

      “Of course not, dear.”

      “Who did?”

      “We don’t know. It was cleverly done, and the crime was purposely fastened on your father, because he was about to be made the rival candidate of Mr. Appleby, for governor.”

      “I know. And Mr. Appleby was at the bottom of it!”

      “Your father doesn’t admit that – ”

      “He must have been.”

      “Hush, Maida. These matters are not for you to judge. You know your father has done all he honestly could to be fully pardoned, or to discover the real criminal, and as he hasn’t succeeded, you must rest content with the knowledge that there was no stone left unturned.”

      “But, mother, suppose Mr. Appleby has something more up his sleeve. Suppose he comes down on dad with some unexpected, some unforeseen blow that – ”

      “Maida, be quiet. Don’t make me sorry that we have let you into our confidence as far as we have. These are matters above your head. Should such a thing as you hint occur, your father can deal with it.”

      “But I want to help – ”

      “And you can best do that by not trying to help! Your part is to divert your father, to love him and cheer him and entertain him. You know this, and you know for you to undertake to advise or suggest is not only ridiculous but disastrous.”

      “All right, mother, I’ll be good. I don’t mean to be silly.”

      “You are, when you assume ability you don’t possess.” Mrs. Wheeler’s loving smile robbed the words of any harsh effect. “Run along now, and see if dad won’t go for a walk with you; and don’t refer to anything unpleasant.”

      Maida went, and found Wheeler quite ready for a stroll

      “Which way?” he asked as they crossed the south veranda.

      “Round the park, and bring up under the tree, and have tea there,” dictated Maida, her heart already lighter as she obeyed her mother’s dictum to avoid unpleasant subjects.

      But as they walked on, and trivial talk seemed to pall, they naturally reverted to the discussion of their recent guests.

      “Mr. Appleby is an old curmudgeon,” Maida declared; “Mr. Keefe is nice and well-behaved; but the little Lane girl is a scream! I never saw any one so funny. Now she was quite a grand lady, and then she was a common little piece! But underneath it all she showed a lot of good sense and I’m sure in her work she has real ability.”

      “Appleby wouldn’t keep her if she didn’t have,” her father rejoined; “but why do you call him a curmudgeon? He’s very well-mannered.”

      “Oh, yes, he is. And to tell the truth, I’m not sure just what a curmudgeon is. But – he’s it, anyway.”

      “I gather you don’t especially admire my old friend.”

      “Friend! If he’s a friend – give me enemies!”

      “Fie, fie, Maida, what do you mean? Remember, he gave me my pardon.”

      “Yes, a high old pardon!

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