And when told that they did, she gathered and arranged an exquisite little bouquet, which she tied with a white ribbon, and then, moved by some impulse she did not try to define, she wrote on a slip of paper, in her childish hand:
“From little Gertie Westbrooke, with her love, and God bless you.”
This she folded and put inside the flowers, saying to herself:
“She’ll know who Gertie Westbrooke is, and maybe speak to me on the ship.”
Gertie was much interested in the beautiful lady, whom she had occasionally seen from the window when Edith came to call upon Mrs. Barrett, and her interest was increased when she heard she was to be married to a gentleman rich enough and grand enough to be a lord, and that she was to see the sight, and then go to America in the same vessel with the bridal pair.
It was all like a bit of romance, and the little girl’s heart beat high, and her cheeks were like carnation, as she arranged her bright hair and twisted a blue ribbon in it, and put on her best muslin dress, and the string of pearl beads a lady had given her at the last Christmas, and then went with Mary to the church, where, with her face all flushed and eager, she stood with her dimpled white arms leaning on the pew railing, her straw hat falling back from her head, and her sparkling blue eyes fixed upon the bridal party as it came up the aisle.
“Look, Bob! there’s the very face I told you about, over there in the corner!” Godfrey whispered to Robert Macpherson, with a pinch of the arm, which made Bob wince with pain.
But he saw the face, and started suddenly,—it was so like another dear little face lying under the daisies in the English sunshine. The same blue eyes, the same sweet mouth, the same bright, flowing hair he had tried so hard to put upon the canvas, and failed each time he tried, because of the treacherous memory, which, good in other things, could not retain with vividness the image of the lost one, loved so passionately and laid away from sight amid so many tears and heart-throbs.
“The likeness is wonderful,” he thought. “I must ascertain who this child is. Schuyler will find her for me.”
The ceremony was commencing now, and all eyes were fixed upon the bride, save those of Robert Macpherson. He looked only at Gertie Westbrooke, who, unconscious of his gaze, stood watching Edith in silent wonder and admiration, thinking how beautiful she was in her rich bridal robes, and how happy she must be,—only the bridegroom was a trifle too old, and dignified, and grave, Gertie thought; and then, as she glanced at the tall, handsome Godfrey, she thought if she were the bride she should prefer him to the father, and she wondered a little at Edith’s choice.