Her Father's Daughter

by Gene Stratton-Porter

Then Katy hurried to the kitchen. Linda looked at John Gilman and smiled.

“Isn’t that like her?” she said.

Then she led the way to the library, pulled aside the books, fitted the key to the little door, and opened it. Inside lay a single envelope, sealed and bearing her name. She took the envelope, and walking to her father’s chair beside his library table, sat down in it, and laying the envelope on the table, crossed her hands on top of it.

“John,” she said, “ever since I have been big enough to think and reason and study things out for myself, there is a feeling I have had—I used to think it was unreasonable, then I thought it remote possibility. This minute I think it’s extremely probable. Before I open this envelope I am going to tell you what I believe it contains. I have not the slightest evidence except personal conviction, but I believe that the paper inside this envelope is written by my father’s hand and I believe it tells me that he was not Eileen’s father and that I am not her sister. If it does not say this, then there is nothing in race and blood and inherited tendencies.”

Linda picked up the paper cutter, ran it across the envelope, slipped out the sheet, and bracing herself she read:

My darling Linda:

These lines are to tell you that your mother went to her eternal sleep when you were born. Four years later I met and fell in love with the only mother you ever have known. At the time of our marriage we entered into a solemn compact that her little daughter by a former marriage and mine should be reared as sisters. I was to give half my earnings and to do for Eileen exactly as I did for you. She was to give half her love and her best attention to your interests.

I sincerely hope that what I have done will not result in any discomfort or inconvenience to you.

With dearest love, as ever your father,
Alexander Strong.

Linda laid the sheet on the table and dropped her hands on top of it. Then she looked at John Gilman.

“John,” she said, “I believe you had better face the fact that the big car and the big people that carried Eileen away to-day were her mother’s wealthy relatives from San Francisco. She must have been in touch with them. I think very likely she sent for them after I saw her in the bank yesterday afternoon, trying with all her might to make the paying teller turn over to her the funds of the private account.”

John Gilman sat very still for a long time, then he raised tired, disappointed eyes to Linda’s face.

“Linda,” he said, “do you mean you think Eileen was not straight about money matters?”