"'What would you think of a gold chain?' asked my wife.
"'She's got one.'
"'No; because she wears it inside her dress. She showed it to me once, and there is a dear little locket on it, with a picture of her mother inside, and a half coin with a hole in it—a Jubilee one.'
"I started up at this, and gave those two such a cross-examining as they never had in their lives. They thought at first that I had taken leave of my senses. But I've got the whole story now, and I am quite convinced that this Marjory Davidson, whose father's name was Hugh, and who has lived in hopes, ever since she could think, that her father might turn up, is your daughter, though it is a mystery to me why you did not know of her existence. But come and see for yourself. I made my wife and daughter promise to say nothing. I gather that there was some trouble between you and the old man, so it's best for us to keep our own counsel for the present. I hope you won't think me an interfering ass, but I haven't a doubt in my mind that it is as I say—you have got a child to live for, and the sooner you come and see her the better. Let me know when to expect you, and I'll come and look after you. Make your headquarters with us as long as you like.—Believe me yours faithfully,
Hilary Forester."
Mr. Davidson laid this letter aside and took up another one. It was written in a large, irregular hand, and ran as follows:—
"The Low Farm, Heathermuir,
Northshire, Scotland.
"Dear Sir,—I take the liberty of writing you this letter, hoping it finds you well, as it leaves me at present. I wish to tell you that it's all serene now with me and my wife, she having forgiven all bygones and let them be. Your kindness to me whilst I was laid up at your God-forsaken place—begging your pardon, sir, but I was anxious to be off again, as you know—but your kindness, as I say, and good advice, was such that I make bold to dare and ask you to forgive bygones, like as my good wife has done. I'm sure your Miss Marjory is as sweet a young lady as you could wish to see, and your living image, eyes and hair and all. It is said about here—begging your pardon, sir—that, because the old man was rough on you, you won't acknowledge or take notice of your child. They say he's too proud to ask you to come home; and she, poor lamb, don't even know that she has a father. Things ain't as they ought to be altogether in this world, but you can do a deal to put some of them straight, sir, if I may make bold to say so. It is some time since I seen you, but directly my wife told me Miss Marjory's name and story, I knew you was her father. I haven't breathed of this to any one, let alone Miss Marjory herself, but I am sure that if you was to come you would see that I am right. I do beg your pardon if anything I have written is not as it should be betwixt you and me, sir; but I am now so happy myself through the forgiving of old bygones that I am all for trying to make things straight; which, hoping you will soon do, I am your obedient servant,
"Samuel Higgs Shaw."