Sir Stuart had scarcely moved during the reading of the letter. He had sat with his right hand covering his eyes, but yet evidently listening attentively to each word as it fell from the reader's lips. As Quincy folded up the letter and passed it back to Linda, Sir Stuart arose and came forward to the front part of the room. Quincy took Linda's hand and led her towards Mr. Fernborough. Then he said, "Sir Stuart, I think this letter proves conclusively that this young lady's real name is Linda Fernborough Chessman. I knew personally Mr. Silas Putnam, mentioned in the letter, and scores of others can bear testimony that she has lived nearly all her life with this Silas Putnam, and has been known to all as his adopted daughter. There is no doubt but that the Linda Fernborough who was buried at sea was her mother. If you are satisfied that Mrs. Charles Chessman was your daughter, it follows that this young lady must be your granddaughter."
"There is no doubt of it in my mind," said Sir Stuart, taking both of Linda's hands in his. "I live at Fernborough Hall, which is located in Heathfield, in the county of Sussex. But, my dear, I did not know until to-day that my poor daughter had a child, and it will take me just a little time to get accustomed to the fact. Old men's brains do not act as quickly as my young friend's here." As he said this he looked towards Quincy. "But I am sure that we both of us owe to him a debt of gratitude that it will be difficult for us ever to repay."
The old gentleman drew Linda towards him and folded her tenderly in his arms. "Come, rest here, my dear one," said he; "your doubts and hopes, your troubles and trials, and your wanderings are over." He kissed her on the forehead, and Linda put her arms about his neck and laid her head upon his breast.
"You are the only one united to me by near ties of blood in the world," Sir Stuart continued, and he laid his hand on Linda's head and turned her face towards him. "You have your mother's eyes," he said. "We will go back to England, and Fernborough Hall will have a mistress once more. You are English born, and have a right to sit in that seat which might have been your mother's but for the pride and prejudice which thirty years ago ruled both your grandmother and myself."
Leaving them to talk over future plans, Quincy went back to the hotel and wrote two letters. The first was addressed to Lord Algernon Hastings in London. The other was a brief note to Aunt Ella, informing her that a party of four would start for Boston on the morning train and that she might expect them about four o'clock in the afternoon.
It lacked but five minutes of that hour when a carriage, containing the party from New York, stopped before the Mt. Vernon Street house. It suited Quincy's purpose that his companions should first meet his wife, although the fact that she was his wife was as yet unknown to them.
The meeting between Alice and Linda was friendly, but not effusive. They had been ordinary acquaintances in the old days at Eastborough, but now a mutual satisfaction and pleasure drew them more closely together.
"I have come," said Linda, "to thank you, Miss Pettengill, for your kindness and justice to me. Few women would have disregarded the solemn oath that Mrs. Putnam forced you to take, but by doing so you have given me a lawful name and a life of happiness for the future. May every blessing that Heaven can send to you be yours."
"All the credit should not be given to me," replied Alice. "The morning after Mrs. Putnam's death I was undecided in my mind which course to follow, whether to destroy the paper or to keep it. It was a few words from my Uncle Isaac that enabled me to decide the matter. He told me that a promise made to the dead should not be carried out if it interfered with the just rights of the living. So I decided to keep the paper, but how? It was then that Mr. Sawyer came to the rescue and pointed out to me the line of action, which I am truly happy to learn has ended so pleasantly."
"Grandpa and I have both thanked Mr. Sawyer so much," said Linda, "that he will not listen to us any more, but I will write to Uncle Ike, for I used to call him by that name, and show him that I am not ungrateful. I have lost all my politeness, I am so happy," continued Linda; "I believe you have met grandpa."