Marjory felt as if she were living in a dream, such impossible things seemed to be happening. Could it be true that she was going to London, and her uncle to New York? One thing she begged of the doctor: that they might both be at home again in time for her birthday—that important fifteenth one when she was to see and know so much; and her uncle promised that it should be so if possible.
If the skies had suddenly fallen, Lisbeth and Peter could hardly have been more surprised than they were when the doctor announced his plans for his and Marjory's departure. Such a thing had never happened before, and they felt doubtful that they would ever see their master again if he went to "foreign parts." But when they became more accustomed to the idea, it lost some of its terrors, and they began to take a keen interest in the preparations for departure.
The house was to be left in charge of Lisbeth and Peter, who, as their master knew, would take care of it as if it were their own.
"Look after Miss Marjory's room," he said to Lisbeth one day.
"Ay, an' I will that," responded the old woman. "It's to be Marjory's ain come she's fifteen, an' that's no sae lang."
The doctor had always spoken of his sister as Miss Marjory; he had never got into the habit of speaking of her as Mrs. Davidson to his servants, and it was always "Miss Marjory's room" to them.
There was quite a little crowd at the station to see them off on the day of their departure. The Foresters and Marjory and her uncle all went together to Liverpool, so that Marjory might be able to see the doctor start on his voyage.
It was a time of wonder to the country girl, who had never seen any place larger than Morristown. The long journey, as it seemed to her, the many crowded streets of the city, the noise and bustle of the docks, bewildered her, and she hardly knew whether she enjoyed these new sensations or not, they were so overpowering.
When at last it was time to say good-bye to her uncle, she clung to him, begging him not to go and leave her. "Take me with you," she sobbed. Poor Marjory! it was her first parting, and she had not realized what it would mean. This great ship towering above her like a monster ready to swallow her uncle out of her sight, the unknown miles of ocean that lay between him and his destination—all this seemed terrible to the girl. She could not let him go without her.
The doctor folded her in his arms, kissing her many times. "There, there, my child; it won't be very long before I come back, and I hope you will be very glad to see me. Be brave now, and wish me a good voyage. Good-bye, my own little girl." And he was obliged to put her from him. She was led down the gangway by Mr. Forester; blinded by her tears, she could not see the way before her. People crowded behind them, there was much shouting of good-byes, the clatter of gangways being withdrawn, a straining and creaking of ropes, a throbbing of engines, and the great ship began to move—stealthily, it seemed to Marjory, as though it knew the heartaches it was causing, and felt ashamed of its part in tearing so many people away from their friends.