“That wouldn’t matter. Trick or no trick, if the big sycamore went into Massachusetts, you could go. But I don’t see any good plan for getting it in. And, too, Sycamore Ridge wouldn’t be Sycamore Ridge without it. Don’t you love the old tree, dad?” “Of course, as I love every stick and stone about the place. It has been a real haven to me in my perturbed life.” “Suppose you had to leave it, daddy?” “I think I’d die, dear. Unless, that is, we could go back home.” “Isn’t this home?” “It’s the dearest spot on earth—outside my native state.” “There, there, dad, don’t let’s talk about it. We’re here for keeps——” “Heaven send we are, dearest! I couldn’t face the loss of this place. What made you think of such a thing?” “Oh, I’m thinking of all sorts of things to-day. But, father, while we’re talking of moving—couldn’t you—oh, couldn’t you, bring yourself, somehow, to do what Mr. Appleby wants you to do? I don’t know much about it—but father, darling, if you _only could_!” “Maida, my little girl, don’t think I haven’t tried. Don’t think I don’t realize what it means to you and Jeff. I know—oh, I _do_ know how it would simplify matters if I should go over to the Appleby side—and push Sam’s campaign—as I could do it. I know that it would mean my full pardon, my return to my old home, my reunion with old scenes and associations. And more than that, it would mean the happiness of my only child—my daughter—and her chosen husband. And yet, Maida, as God is my judge, I am honest in my assertion that I _can’t_ so betray my honor and spend my remaining years a living lie. I can’t do it, Maida—I _can’t_.” And the calm, sorrowful countenance he turned to the girl was more positive and final than any further protestation could have been. CHAPTER V THE BUGLE SOUNDED TAPS Although the portions of the house and grounds that were used by Wheeler included the most attractive spots, yet there were many forbidden places that were a real temptation to him. An especial one was the flower-covered arbor that had so charmed Genevieve and another was the broad and beautiful north veranda. To be sure, the south piazza was equally attractive, but it was galling to be compelled to avoid any part of his own domain. However, the passing years had made the conditions a matter of habit and it was only occasionally that Wheeler’s annoyance was poignant. In fact, he and his wife bore the cross better than did Maida. She had never become reconciled to the unjust and arbitrary dictum of the conditional pardon. She lived in a constant fear lest her father should some day inadvertently and unintentionally step on the forbidden ground, and it should be reported. Indeed, knowing her father’s quixotic honesty, she was by no means sure he wouldn’t report it himself.