“What! Carl Crawford!” exclaimed Robinson, in amazement. “How came you in Chicago? Your father did not tell me you were here.”
“He does not know it. I am only here on a business visit. Tell me, Mr. Robinson, how is my father?”
“I think, Carl, that he is not at all well. I am quite sure he misses you, and I don’t believe your stepmother’s influence over him is beneficial. Just before I came away I heard a rumor that troubled me. It is believed in Edgewood that she is trying to induce your father to make a will leaving all, or nearly all his property to her and her son.”
“I don’t care so much for that, Mr. Robinson, as for my father’s health.”
“Carl,” said Robinson, significantly, “if such a will is made I don’t believe your father will live long after it.”
“You don’t mean that?” said Carl, horror-struck.
“I think Mrs. Crawford, by artful means will worry your father to death. He is of a nervous temperament, and an unscrupulous woman can shorten his life without laying herself open to the law.”
Carl’s face grew stern.
“I will save my father,” he said, “and defeat my stepmother’s wicked schemes.”
“I pray Heaven you can. There is no time to be lost.”