There was a moment's silence. Marjory looked at the tall man with the noble gray head, the lined forehead that told of years of sorrow and care. Time had set its marks upon the face, but it was the face of the picture. At last—somehow, and from somewhere—her father had been brought to her. The man held out his arms, and she crept into them, sobbing with wonder and delight and other feelings to which she could not have given a name, as he murmured, "My own little girl, come to me."
That moment seemed to sweep away all the sad memories of her longings and yearnings. Never again would she feel that she was an orphan, really belonging to nobody. Her father, her very own, had come to her at last. How good it was!
It may well be imagined that these two had much to say to each other. Mr. Davidson told his child of her sweet young mother, as he took her round the room, showing her the various treasures, which were in their places just as they had been in the old time when he knew that room so well. In the work-basket was a dainty little garment which had been intended for Marjory. It was not finished; the rusty needle, with its thread yellow with age, was still in it, just as the worker had left it. Mr. Davidson took up the little bundle of muslin and lace and reverently kissed it.
"Thank God for you, my darling," he said, "and for this good day that gives you to me!" And he kissed Marjory again.
Marjory showed her father the locket and chain which she always wore. Yes, he knew it; it was one he had given to her mother. But he did not add that at that time it had contained a picture of himself. And the coin? Yes, he had the other half; and he told Marjory how he and that other Marjory had split it for luck, and how each had promised to wear it always.
There was much questioning and answering of questions between them, and at last came the inevitable one which Mr. Davidson had expected and dreaded,—
"Why did you never come before?"
He looked into his daughter's eyes.
"Can you trust me when I tell you that there was a reason I cannot explain which made it impossible until now, and when I tell you that it was not my fault, and that as soon as the reason was removed I came to you? Will you be content to believe me, and ask no more questions?"
Marjory returned her father's look, a world of trust and confidence in her eyes. "Yes," she replied; and from that moment they understood each other.