“I wonder if Miss Gordon knows what is troubling Muriel? I am sure that she would, if anyone did,” Faith said, but Joy shook her head. “No, Miss Gordon does not know, for last week she asked me to come to her apartment at an hour when Muriel was occupied in the music room and she asked me if I had noticed a change in Rilla, and if so, had I any idea what had occasioned it. I said that we all realized that Muriel seemed sad, but that we did not know the reason. Then Miss Gordon declared that she would write Doctor Winslow, who has been in the South for a month with a patient, and ask him what he thought might be troubling his ward. If this source of possible information fails, Miss Gordon will ask Rilla herself.”
While these three friends were discussing Muriel as they sat out by the tennis court, that maiden was seated alone beneath the little pine tree that had been her comforter in those first lonely days before she had become acquainted at High Cliffs. In her hand she held a letter and there were unshed tears in her eyes. Although her Uncle Barney’s name was signed at the close of the missive, Muriel knew that Molly had penned it for him.
“Dearie,” the girl read, “there’s no news yet, though it does seem like there ought to be. Here ’tis May and the letter we wrote was sent last December. Folks do say, ‘no news is good news,’ but I reckon this time, colleen, ’tisn’t so. If your father was living he’d have sent some sort of an answer. It would be going against nature not to.
“If he hadn’t lost the letter with the address on it, or if we could remember it, we’d write again. ’Twas a name I’d never heard before, nor had Molly. I reckon that old letter got into the stove, somehow, and so there’s no way to write again. Seems like I can never forgive myself if the fault is mine. Your loving Uncle Barney.”
So, after all, the dream ended. Muriel was never to know the father she had loved so long. With a sigh that was half a sob, she arose and walked slowly back toward the school, when she saw one of the younger pupils racing toward her.
“Muriel Storm, you’re wanted in the parlor. There’s someone to see you. It’s a man and he’s elegant looking.”
Muriel’s heart leaped. Could it be that her father had come, after all?
When Muriel appeared in the doorway of the reception room, Miss Gordon rose, as did the man who was at her side.
Advancing with outstretched hands, the principal said: “Dear girl, why didn’t you tell me about it? I wasn’t at all prepared for the message that this gentleman has brought to us.” Then turning to the man, who was gazing with unconcealed interest at the tall, beautiful girl, Miss Gordon added: “Muriel, this is Mr. Templeton of London. He has come at the request of your father, who is not strong enough just now to make the voyage, and, if you desire, you are to return with Mr. Templeton at once. Your passage has been engaged on a steamship leaving Hoboken tomorrow at daybreak.”
The girl gazed from one to the other as though scarcely able to comprehend. Then, slowly, a light dawned in her clear hazel eyes and she said: “My father, my own father, he wants me?”