Viewed now—in a softer light, through a golden atmosphere—Madeline’s deeds were excusable. The poor girl had been Selina’s victim, and therefore more to be pitied than blamed. Madeline must be sought and, if possible, discovered and reinstated as if there had been no hiatus, as if nothing disagreeable had occurred. And we have seen the “state of life” in which Madeline had been found.
“Letitia, do you go down now, and presently send up a nice breakfast for two—two fresh eggs—whilst I have a talk with dear Madeline.” Thus the old lady, who still held the reins of authority, although she had lost the use of her right hand; and Letitia, having previously rehearsed the whole “talk” with her mother, and fearing that “too many cooks might spoil the broth,” departed with meek obedience.
“Take off your hat and jacket, my love, and make yourself at home. I am sure you will not be surprised to hear—yes, put them on the ottoman—that your father is alive and well, and returning an immensely”—dwelling lovingly on the word—“rich man.”
Madeline’s heart bounded into her mouth, her face became like flame. So her presentiment had come true!
“Ah! I see you are surprised, darling: so were we when we got his letter, a week ago. Here, bring me that case, the green one on the little table, and I’ll read it to you at once—or you may read it yourself if you like, Madeline.”
Madeline did as requested, picked out a foreign letter in a well-known hand, and sat down to peruse it beside Mrs. Harper’s bed. That lady, having assumed her spectacles for the nonce, scanned her late pupil’s face with keen intentness.
This is what the letter said:—
“Royal Kangaroo Club,
“Collins Street, Melbourne.
“My dear Mrs. Harper,
“After such a long silence, you will be surprised to see my writing, but here I am. I am afraid Madeline has been rather uneasy about me—and, indeed, no wonder. I met with some terrible losses in bank shares two years ago: nearly the whole of my life’s earnings were engulphed in an unparalleled financial catastrophe. The anxiety and trouble all but killed me—threw me into a fever, from the effects of which I was laid up for months—many months, and when I again put my shoulder to the wheel I was determined not to write home until I was as rich a man as ever. I knew that you, who had had the care of Madeline since she was seven, would trust me, and everything would go on as usual. I had always been such punctual pay, you would give me time for once. I am now, I am glad to say, a wealthy man. Some lots of land I bought years ago have turned up trumps—in short, gold. I am not going to speculate again, but am returning home a millionaire, and Maddie shall keep house in London, and hold up her head among the best. Stray bits of news have drifted to my ears. I heard a foolish story about some beggarly barrister or curate and her. A schoolgirl wrote it to her brother; but I am certain it was only girls’ tittle-tattle. Surely you would never allow my heiress to play the fool! If she did, she knows very well that I would disown her. I am a fond father in my way, and a good father, as you can testify, but I’ll have no pauper fortune-hunters, or puling love affairs. A hint from you to Madeline, that at the least nonsense of that sort I marry again, and let her please herself, will be, at any rate, a stitch in time. She has had a good education. She can earn her bread; but I know it is not necessary to continue this subject. You are a sensible woman; Madeline is a sensible girl, if she is my daughter. And I have great views for her, very great views. I shall follow this letter in about six weeks’ time, and will write again before I leave. I shall come by the Ophir, Orient Line, and you and Maddie can meet me in Plymouth. I enclose a draft on my agents for six hundred pounds, five hundred for Maddie’s schooling and outfit for two years, and the balance for pocket-money and a few new frocks, so that she may be smart when her old daddie comes home.”