“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.”