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night was on a par with the way he had run to him on the night of the fire. He was just shrewd
and calculating and heartless.
"I'll make ye no promise," he said. "Tell me where my daughter is, and I'll think the matter over.
Ye have no claim on me now, and I owe ye no good turn. But I'll think it over, anyhow."
"That's quite all right," replied Cowperwood. "That's all I can expect. But what about Aileen? Do
you expect her to leave Philadelphia?"
"Not if she settles down and behaves herself: but there must be an end of this between you and
her. She's disgracin' her family and ruinin' her soul in the bargain. And that's what you are doin'
with yours. It'll be time enough to talk about anything else when you're a free man. More than
that I'll not promise."
Cowperwood, satisfied that this move on Aileen's part had done her a real service if it had not
aided him especially, was convinced that it would be a good move for her to return to her home
at once. He could not tell how his appeal to the State Supreme Court would eventuate. His
motion for a new trial which was now to be made under the privilege of the certificate of
reasonable doubt might not be granted, in which case he would have to serve a term in the
penitentiary. If he were compelled to go to the penitentiary she would be safer--better off in the
bosom of her family. His own hands were going to be exceedingly full for the next two months
until he knew how his appeal was coming out. And after that--well, after that he would fight on,
whatever happened.
During all the time that Cowperwood had been arguing his case in this fashion he had been
thinking how he could adjust this compromise so as to retain the affection of Aileen and not
offend her sensibilities by urging her to return. He knew that she would not agree to give up
seeing him, and he was not willing that she should. Unless he had a good and sufficient reason,
he would be playing a wretched part by telling Butler where she was. He did not intend to do so
until he saw exactly how to do it--the way that would make it most acceptable to Aileen. He
knew that she would not long be happy where she was. Her flight was due in part to Butler's
intense opposition to himself and in part to his determination to make her leave Philadelphia
and behave; but this last was now in part obviated. Butler, in spite of his words, was no longer a
stern Nemesis. He was a melting man--very anxious to find his daughter, very willing to forgive
her. He was whipped, literally beaten, at his own game, and Cowperwood could see it in the old
man's eyes. If he himself could talk to Aileen personally and explain just how things were, he felt
sure he could make her see that it would be to their mutual advantage, for the present at least,
to have the matter amicably settled. The thing to do was to make Butler wait somewhere--here,
possibly--while he went and talked to her. When she learned how things were she would
probably acquiesce.
"The best thing that I can do under the circumstances," he said, after a time, "would be to see
Aileen in two or three days, and ask her what she wishes to do. I can explain the matter to her,
and if she wants to go back, she can. I will promise to tell her anything that you say."
"Two or three days!" exclaimed Butler, irritably. "Two or three fiddlesticks! She must come home
to-night. Her mother doesn't know she's left the place yet. To-night is the time! I'll go and fetch
her meself to-night."
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