He crushed her to his heart without a word. He knew that he was incapable of speaking. He kissed her over and over again and devoured her with his eyes.
"My little girl Louise!" he was finally able to say in a broken voice. "My beautiful, woman-grown little girl—God forever bless her!" and he held her out at arm's length, his powerful, bronzed hands gripping her shoulders, and gazed avidly at her until once again he clasped her to his heart.
After a time, when father and daughter were able to speak collectedly, Louise walked over to the railing of the porch and raised her riding crop high in the air. Her father saw the signal. The man for whom it was intended saw it as quickly. Instantly, from behind the superintendent's house at the gate of the plantation road, a horse, ridden by a man in khaki, emerged and quickly swung into a gallop, making for the bungalow.
When John Blythe, with his wide smile, leaped from the horse and tossed the reins to the waiting Kanaka boy, George Treharne, recognizing him at once, glanced wonderingly from his face to the smiling, flushed face of Louise. Then his own bronzed features were creased by a smile of warmth and happiness.
"Then I have a son, too, Louise?" he asked his daughter.
But he knew how needless her brightly nodded answer was when, an instant later, he saw her clasped in her husband's arms.