When Uncle John had told her that her mother was dead, she had not thought of dying. But now she longed to die. There flashed across her mind the picture of herself as they would find her. Perhaps she would be lying, pale and still, on some flowery, sunny slope, where, faint from lack of food and drink, she had at last sunk down. Or, better still, she would be washed by the waves toward some shore, and the moon would shine on her white face, and her hair would float out on the water.
She heard steps. Farther back against the timbers she crouched, and held her hat before her face.
Then the voice began again—“Somebody would’ve seen her, I tell you, if she’d passed.” She lifted her head, unable to believe her ears. Her father’s voice! And he was in Peru!
Then two men moved into sight from the direction of the wide road. One was a stranger. The other was her father. As they halted under the bridge, Phœbe gave a great cry, and half crawled, half rolled, from her hiding-place. Her face was streaked with dirt, her hair tangled, her dress rumpled. Sobbing, she almost fell down the embankment to her father’s arms.
“Daddy! Oh, Daddy! Daddy! Oh, Daddy, forgive me! Forgive——!”
He caught her to him, and she knew that he was weeping, too. Oh, the joy of having his arms about her, of feeling herself back in his tender care! Men were running toward them from both directions, shouting as they came. Shots were being fired. It was all because she was found. But she hid her face and clung to heir father. What mattered if only she had him?
“Dear baby!” he was saying. “Oh, my precious little girl! Oh, were they bad to her while Daddy was away? He’ll never go again—he’ll never leave his darling again——”
He carried her through the crowd that had gathered, and stepped with her into the tonneau of an automobile. The car turned slowly. A great cheer went up. Nearby a church bell began to ring. Then the ride home began.
Phœbe lay as she had lain that afternoon and evening on the train, her head pillowed on her father’s shoulder, her feet curled up on the wide seat. But now her father talked to her, lovingly, soothingly.
“She wanted to go back to New York, my baby,” he said.