“My dear Miss Standen,—Now that the arch-enemy of mankind (in reality he is often a friend) has deprived you of your—shall I say foster mother? it is time for me to say that I hope you will always regard me as a friend, who has known you from your earliest childhood. There are some events in your family history which a promise to the dead kept me from relating during Mrs. O’Hara’s lifetime. I will acquaint you with them fully in a few days. As a preliminary, Mrs. Gascoigne and myself will be delighted to have you with us while you decide about the future. The sooner the better. Shall we say to-day at your own time? A house of mourning is not a suitable place for a young girl who—although she may have experienced much kindness—is no way connected with the deceased. Forgive an old lawyer’s bluntness; you are too sensible, I am sure, to take offence at my home-truths (which are always disagreeable). Awaiting you and your luggage,
“Believe me, my dear Miss Standen,
“Your sincere friend,
“Henry Morton Gascoigne.”
It was impossible not to believe in the sincerity of the letter, and Muriel Standen read it a second time with a keen sense of gratitude for the writer.
She had believed herself entirely alone in the world, penniless, and without a home.
For, after the death of Mrs. O’Hara, she could no longer stay at the farm.
Tom was to be married in a few weeks at his mother’s last request, and although she had mentioned Muriel’s name, apparently with the intention of adding something regarding her, death had intervened.
Mrs. O’Hara died before the girl could ascertain any particulars of her early life.
She answered Mr. Gascoigne’s letter, thankfully accepting his kind offer, and sent it by one of the farm-hands.