He looked wistfully from the window, adding: “How strange are Thy ways, O Providence! * * * Well, Theresa, we must start early, and for a few hours leave Sir Harold to his flowers and books.”
The girl ran about the house like a happy child. A new world was opening to her, filled with unexpected treasures, as beautiful even as the stories of fairydom.
Mr. Hamilton took his daughter to a town called Farnwell, and left her in the hands of a firm of costumiers, while he made other purchases. He spent his money freely, and it seemed to afford him infinite satisfaction. A further visit to Farnwell was made a few days later, followed by several large parcels which were delivered by the local carrier.
The next day was Sunday, and, after the midday meal, Sir Harold was startled by a vision of beauty that suddenly appeared before him. It was Theresa in one of her new frocks—a perfect-fitting dress of creamy, shimmering stuff, a coral necklet round her ivory throat, and a bunch of scarlet poppies in her hair.
“Theresa!” gasped Sir Harold. “Surely not. Oh, how lovely you are, little one!”
“Do you think so? I am so glad if you are pleased!”
Mr. Hamilton was looking on, and a deep sigh escaped him.
“It is her mother over again,” he said, in a half-whisper. “I never noticed it before. The likeness is almost fatal. They would know her anywhere!”
He shuddered, and his face blanched. But with Sir Harold his darling would be safe!
He watched them into the garden, Theresa looking trustfully up at the man she loved, and her happy laughter ringing in his ears.