"Frank Tracy, you are the biggest rascal living, but you have gone too far now to go back. People would never respect you again. And then there is Maude. You cannot disgrace her."
No, he could not disgrace his darling Maude, who, as if guessing that he was thinking of her, came up the steps to his side, and seating herself upon his lap, pushed the hair from his forehead and kissed him lovingly.
"My beautiful Maude," he thought, for he knew she would be beautiful, with her black hair, and starry eyes, and brilliant complexion, and he loved her with all the strength of his nature. To see her grow into womanhood, admired and sought after by every one, was the desire of his heart, and as he believed that money was necessary to the perfect fulfilment of his desire, for her sake he would carry his secret to the grave.
"Are you sick, papa?" Maude asked, looking into his face, on which the moon shone brightly.
"No, pet," he answered her; "only tired. I am thinking of little Jerry Crawford. She was here this afternoon."
"Yes, I saw her in the park with Harold. Isn't he handsome, papa? and such a nice boy! so different from Tom," Maude said, and then she went on: "Jerry is pretty, too; prettier than I am; her hair curls and mine doesn't, but her dress is so ugly—that old high apron and calico gown. What makes her so poor and me so rich?"
Mr. Tracy groaned, as he replied:
"You are not rich, my child."
"Oh, yes I am," Maude said. "I heard mamma tell Mrs. Brinsmade so. She said Uncle Arthur was worth millions and when he died we should have it all, because he could not make a will if he wanted to, and he had no children of his own."
Maude had heard so much from her mother and others of their prospective wealth, that she understood the situation far better than she ought, and was already counting on the thousands waiting for her when her uncle died. And yet Maude Tracy had in her nature qualities which were to ripen into a noble womanhood. Truthful and generous, her instincts of right and wrong were very keen, and young as she was, she had no respect for anything like deception or trickery. This her father knew, and his bitterest pang of remorse came from the thought, "What would Maude say if she knew?" And it was more for her sake he was sinning than for his own or that of any other. She was so pretty, or would be, when grown to young ladyhood, and the adornments which money could bring would so well become her.