CHAPTER XLII. MURIEL MEETS HER FATHER.
To the surprised delight of Muriel, both Uncle Barney and little Zoethwere at the boat to bid her goodbye. Doctor Winslow had at once wired thegood news to the old man who had been instrumental in finding the girl'slong-lost father and his deeply furrowed, weather-beaten face shone withjoy as he held out his arms to Rilla, heeding not at all the jostlingthrong of voyagers who were eager to board the greater steamer.
"Who is your pa, Rilly gal? What'd the lawyer chap tell yo' about him?"Muriel shook her head. "I don't know a bit more about it than you do,Uncle Barney," she confessed. "My father wished me to form my own opinionwhen I met him, and so he asked Mr. Templeton to make no attempt todescribe him to me. I'm glad really. One never can picture people as theytruly are. All that matters to me is that he is my father."
Then Doctor Lem returned, having attended to the baggage, and they allaccompanied Rilla to her stateroom. "Take good care of Shags for me,"were her last words to Zoeth, "and tell him I'll come back after him assoon as ever I can."
Then Muriel leaned over the rail and waved to her loved ones on thecrowded wharf until the huge steamer had swung out into the channel.
The voyage, although of great interest to the girl, who so loved the sea,was uneventful, and in due time England was reached.
"And so this is London," Muriel said one foggy morning as she glanced outof the window of the conveyance which Mr. Templeton had engaged to takethem to their destination. "I am so glad that my father does not live inthe city." Then she inquired: "Is he a farmer, Mr. Templeton?" Rillarecalled that when in Tunkett the young man had seemed to be very poor,but he might have sold paintings enough since then to have bought a farm.
Mr. Templeton's expression was inscrutable. "Why, yes, Miss Muriel; in away your father might be called a farmer. All kinds of vegetables andstock are raised on his place. But--er--he doesn't wield the pitchforkhimself these days. He is rather too prosperous for that."
How glad the girl was when they were out on the open road. The hawthornhedges were white with bloom and so high that in many places they couldnot see over them into the parklike grounds they were passing.
Suddenly Muriel touched Mr. Templeton's arm and lifted a glowing face."Hark!" she whispered. "Did you hear it? Over there in the hedgerow.There it is again. Oh, I know him! Miss Gordon has often read the poem.
"'That's the wise thrush. He sings each song twice over Lest you think he could never recapture That first fine, careless rapture.'
"Do you like Browning's poetry, Mr. Templeton?"
"Well, really, Miss Muriel, I've never had much time to read verse; beentoo busy studying law. But your farmer-father sets quite a store by thepoets, he tells me."
"I'm so glad!" was the radiant reply. Then the girl fell to musing. Howshe hoped that her dear mother knew that at last she was going to thepoor artist whom she had so loved.
"How long will it be before we reach the farming district, Mr.Templeton?" The girl was again gazing out of the window at her side."These homes that we are passing are like the great old castles I haveread about in Scott's books and Thackeray's."
"We will soon reach our destination," was the non-committal reply of hercompanion. Then, leaning forward, he spoke a few words to the man at thewheel.
They turned down a side road that narrowed to a winding lane. There theconveyance stopped and Mr. Templeton directed Muriel to a picturesquecabin half hidden among trees, in front of which ran a shallow babblingstream. "Your father awaits you in there," he said.
As one in a dream Muriel crossed the rustic bridge and approached thecabin. It was just the sort of a home that an artist would build, shethought.
Timidly she knocked on the closed door. It was flung open by a mannearing middle age, perhaps, but whose youthful face was radiant with agreat joy. Taking both her hands, he gazed at her devouringly. Then,drawing her to him, he crushed her in his arms as he said, his voicetense with emotion: "My Rilla's own little girl, and my girl, too."
CHAPTER XLIII. RILLA OF THE LIGHTHOUSE.
It was June, one year since Muriel Storm had arrived in England, andagain she was returning to the home of her ancestors, after a long tripto Switzerland, where Gene had visited her and her father. During thisyear, Muriel had acquired from her father an ease of manner which wellfitted her for the position she was to fill.
Invitations to the debut of Lady Muriel were crossing the Atlantic. Theywere addressed to the four girls at High Cliffs who had befriended herwhen she was supposed to be only the grand-daughter of alighthouse-keeper. Others bearing the Wainwater crest were addressed todwellers in Tunkett--to Doctor Winslow and his lovely wife; to BrazillaMullet and her brother, Jabez Mullet; to Uncle Barney and his Molly.
In London Mrs. Beavers and Helen received their invitation. There was aflush of pleasure on the elder lady's face as she read the message on thecrested card. "Helen," she said, "will wonders never cease? The Viscountof Wainwater has a daughter. Probably she has been away at school allthese years and that is why we have not heard of her." Then, as her gazewandered to a handsome pictured face on a table near, she added: "I amglad now that Gene did not care for Marianne Carnot."
Helen laughed. "Mother, dear," she said, "what a matchmaker you are! Itis unfortunate that brother seems to care for Muriel Storm."
"Daughter," replied Mrs. Beavers haughtily, "I wish you never again tomention the name of that seafaring girl in my presence. I am so glad thatyour brother will be home from college in time to attend the debut."
* * * * * * * *
The day of the great event had arrived. Helen and her mother were dressedand waiting for the carriage to convey them to Wainwater Castle. But theelder woman was troubled, for though the boat from America had docked andthe train from Liverpool had arrived two hours before, yet Gene had notcome. Then she heard his voice in the lower hall, asking, "Where is mymother?"
Catching her outstretched hands, he exclaimed admiringly: "Did ever achap have so beautiful a mother?" Not waiting for a reply, he addedwheedlingly, "Mother, darling, are you as hard-hearted as ever?"
"I am never hard-hearted, son, where you are concerned. What do youmean?"
"Mother mine, I have come to ask your permission to marry the mostwonderful girl in this world, whose name is Muriel Storm. Am I right inbelieving that you really care for my happiness?"
"Yes, my son, I care for nothing else; it will be a great disappointmentto me to have you marry the daughter of a lighthouse-keeper, but if youare convinced she is the girl you love, I will welcome her for yoursake."
"Mother, mother," he cried, "you will never regret those words!"
Soon after the last guest had arrived at the castle, the orchestra wasstilled, and the viscount spoke. "Friends and neighbors, I have invitedyou here tonight to rejoice with us. I wish to announce the engagement ofmy daughter to one of the finest lads I have ever known, Gene Beavers.And now it gives me great pleasure to present to you my daughter, theLady Muriel of Wainwater."
Mrs. Beavers was scarcely able to believe what she had heard and seen. Asone in a trance, she advanced, and Gene leaped to meet her and placedMuriel's hand in that of his mother. "My boy--I don't understand--Ithought--is this--"
Impulsively the girl held out her other hand as she said in her mostwinning way: "I want you to love me. I am Rilla of the Lighthouse."
Transcriber's Notes
--Preserved the copyright notice from the printed edition, although this book is in the public domain in the country of publication.
--Silently corrected a few typos (but left nonstandard spelling and dialect as is).
--Rearranged front matter to a more-logical streaming order and added a Table of Contents.
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