Doctor Rugvie's visit! It was fruitful of much, little as I anticipated that.
I wrote regularly every month to Delia Beaseley telling her all that I knew would be of interest to her about my life at Lamoral, and assuring her that my lines had fallen in pleasant places. She wrote, at first, to tell me that my wish, in regard to keeping my identity from Doctor Rugvie for the present, would be respected; but in a later letter she urged me to make it known to him; to ascertain all the facts possible about my parentage. I replied that I preferred to wait.
And why did I prefer to wait? I asked myself this question and found no answer. When the answer came, it was unmistakable in its leadings.
"A letter from Doctor Rugvie; he is coming Monday!" I cried joyfully, flourishing the sheet in Jamie's face when he appeared at the door to ask for his mail.
I was sitting on the floor by the shelves in the living-room, for I was busy cataloguing the books in the general and mixed collection, and searching for allied subjects. This work Mr. Ewart assigned to me after I had finished the "forestry" cataloguing.
"Where 's mine?"
"You have n't any, nor Mr. Ewart—from the Doctor, I mean."
"You seem to be particularly elated over the fact."
"Jamie, my friend, feel—" I held up the envelope to him; he took it and fingered it investigatingly.
"What's this in it?"