“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!”