"Send for her! Bring her back to ye! Why man, yer heart is heavy without her; aye, just as yer HAIR is goin' grey, so is yer LIFE without the one thing in it that kapes it warm and bright. Send for her! Don't let the Saxons get hold of her with their flattherin' ways and their insincerities, an' all. Bring her back to ye and kape her with ye until the right man comes along—an' he must be an Irishman—straight of limb an' of character—with the joy of livin' in his heart and the love of yer little girl first to him in the wurrld, an' then ye'll know ye've done the right thing by her; for it's the only happiness yer Peg'll ever know—to be an Irish wife an' an Irish mother as well as an Irish daughther. Send for her—I'm tellin' ye, Frank O'Connell, or it's the sore rod ye'll be makin' for yer own back."
McGinnis's words sank in.
When they parted for the night with many promises to meet again ere long, McConnell sat down and wrote Peg a long letter, leaving the choice in her hands, but telling her how much he would like to have her back with him. He wrote the letter again and again and each time destroyed it. It seemed so clumsy.
It was so hard to express just what he felt. He decided to leave it until morning.
All that night he tossed about in feverish unrest. He could not sleep. He had a feeling of impending calamity.
Toward dawn he woke, and lighting a lamp wrote out a cable message:
Miss Margaret O'Connell
c/o Mrs. Chichester
Regal Villa, Scarboro, England
Please come back to me. I want you.
Love from
Your Affectionate Father
Relieved in his mind, he put the message on the table, intending to send it on his way to business. Then he slept until breakfast-time without a dream.
His Peg would get the message and she would come to him.