The hack whirled them to Loraine place. The great trees stood like sentinels stretching out their bare limbs. The beautiful autumn, had gone, you noted it more here. Up the stoop—how her heart beat, and yet somehow she seemed as if she had lived another lifetime. 294
“Oh dear, dear Marilla,” cried Jane with the warmest embrace. “We have missed you so much, and are so glad to get you back. Why it hasn’t seemed the same house, and everybody has wanted you. Dr. Richards, that Mrs. McCormick died this morning and Miss Armitage was there until noon. Five little children left, think of it, she came home and went straight to bed, but she’s had a cup of tea and will be down in a few minutes.”
They entered the parlor. Marilla took off her hat and coat, it was so warm indoors. She had on a new frock, a curious blue that was very becoming. Her cheeks were a lovely pink, her eyes full of expectancy.
Miss Armitage came down the back stairway and through the library. Marilla gave one cry and was in her arms.
No one had won her away, then. During these days she had had many thoughts about the child’s future. She had felt jealous of the new found relatives and their love, of Dr. Richards’ devotion, of the happy times when she had been counted out. Work had failed to inspire, evenings had been lonely, dreary. Oh, she would never let her go away again 295 unless she went with her. She would beseech the law to make the child hers—
“Oh, fairy godmother!” The charming, joyous tone that showed the child’s certainty of a warm welcome. “It has all been so lovely, but I wanted you so. I wanted you to see the girls and their father who is the loveliest, no not quite the loveliest,” and her eyes shone with a tender radiance, the flush made her beautiful. “For, fairy godmother, I have a father now who will love me and care for me, and I am filled to the brim with happiness—it is better than the fortune. I could hardly wait to tell you. Oh, please be glad for my sake.”
“A father?” she repeated, in a breathless tremulous sort of way.
“Yes,” said Dr. Richards, and there was a strange sort of assurance in his tone. He seemed to have changed mysteriously—there is a vigor, a power and withal a sweet satisfaction in his face that gives her a pang she does not understand.
“Yes,” he repeated. “The fortune is all right. I have been made her guardian, but that did not satisfy me. I have taken out 296 papers of adoption, she is my child, my little little daughter and she has a new, legal, lawful name—Marilla Cinderella Richards.”
“Oh, oh!” The pathetic cry unnerved him.