“Don’t say you won’t let me, mother,” Maida spoke in a dull, sad tone—a tone of calm despair. “It must be so. I’m not saying I love him—I’m not saying much about it all—but I tell you solemnly—it must be. And you must not raise a single word of objection—if you do, you will only make my hard lot harder.”
“But, dear, you must explain. I am your mother—I’ve always had your confidence, and I ought to be told why you are doing this thing.”
“That’s just the trouble, mother. I can’t tell you. And because of the confidence that has always been between us, you must trust me and believe that I am doing right—and doing the only possible thing. Oh, it is all hard enough, without having to argue about it. Why, my will power may give out! My soul strength may break down! Mother! don’t—don’t combat me! Don’t tempt me aside from the only straight line of duty and of right!”
“Child, you are not doing right! You cannot have a duty of which I know nothing! Of which your father knows nothing! Maida, my little girl, what is this thing that has warped your sense of right and wrong? Has Curtis Keefe won your heart away from Jeffrey——”
“No—oh, no! Never that! But it would be a wrong to Jeffrey for me to marry him—it would be a wrong to—to all of us! By marrying Mr. Keefe I can make everything right—and——” she suddenly assumed an air of cold, stern determination. “Mother, my mind is made up. You cannot change it, nor can you help me by trying. You only make it harder for me, and I beg of you to stop. And then—you know, mother—I killed Mr. Appleby——”
“Hush, Maida, you never did! I know you didn’t!”
“But it was either I or father! You don’t believe he did, do you?”
“God help me! I don’t know what to believe! But I tried to say I did it—only I couldn’t carry it out—nor can you, dear.”
“Nor can father, then. Oh, mother, I did do that shooting! I did! I did!”
“Every assertion like that makes me more certain you didn’t,” and Mrs. Wheeler fondly caressed the head that lay on her breast. Maida was not hysterical, but so deeply troubled that she was nervously unstrung and now gave way to torrents of tears, and then ceased crying and bravely announced her plans.
“Please, mother darling, don’t talk about that. Suppose I tell you that even that matter will be all set right if I marry Curtis Keefe—and by no other means. Even Mr. Stone can’t find any other suspect than us three Wheelers. He doesn’t at all believe in the ‘bugler.’ Nobody does.”
