“Oh, yes there is hope, Grandy,” said Sinclair, “but there is nothing else. There’s no probability, scarcely a possibility, but we’ll never give up hope.”
“Never!” agreed Bob; but Mabel’s expression plainly showed that she hadn’t the faintest glimmering of a hope.
“It does seem so strange,” said Patty, thoughtfully, “to have the two directions, and both so explicit. No, not explicit, they’re not that, but both so definite.”
“Hardly definite, either,” said Bob, “except that they seem to reveal the fact that there is a fortune concealed about the place. Oh! it makes me frantic! I feel so helpless.”
“There’s no use storming about it, Bob, my boy,” said his mother. “And, Patty, you mustn’t set us down as too mercenary in this matter. But I think you know that we, as a family, long for the means which would enable us to keep up this dear old place as it should be, and not let its beautiful parks and gardens go uncared for and neglected.”
“I do know!” cried Patty; “and it makes me furious to think that the money—your own money—is perhaps within your reach, and yet—you can’t get it! Oh, why didn’t Mr. Marmaduke say just where he put it!”
“He did,” said Bob, smiling.
“Yes, so he did. Well, I’d tear up every square foot of ground on the whole estate, then.”
“Remember, Patty,” said Sinclair, in his quiet way, “there are nearly ten thousand acres in all; and except for meadowlands and water, there are oaks and firs on nearly every acre. The fortune itself would scarcely pay for all that labour.”
“Well, then, I’d tear the house to pieces.”