“But you have a house—a home—to which you are going?”
“Yes, the home where father lived when a boy, and which he was so anxious to see once more,” Reinette said, and the captain replied:
“Naturally, then, they will take your father there for a day or two, and then give him a grand funeral, with——”
“They won’t; they sha’n’t,” interrupted Reinette, her eyes blazing with determination. “I won’t have a grand funeral, with all the peasantry and their carts joining in it. Neither will I have him carried to the old home. I could not bear to see him there dead. I should hate the place always, and see him everywhere. He is my own darling father to do with as I like. Pierre says I’m my own mistress, and I shall telegraph Mr. Beresford to-morrow that father must be buried from the station, and I shall make him do it.”
She was very decided and imperious, and the captain let her have her way, and sent off for her next morning the long telegram which she had written, regardless of expense, and which so startled the people in Merrivale and changed their plans so summarily.
CHAPTER VIII.
REINETTE ARRIVES.
Mr. Beresford, to whom the telegram was addressed, read it first, feeling as if the ground was moving from under his feet, and leaving a chasm he did not know how to span.
“What is it?” Phil asked, as he saw how white Mr. Beresford grew, and how the hand which held the telegram shook.
“Read for yourself,” Mr. Beresford said, passing the paper to Phil, to whose eyes the hot tears sprang quickly, and whose heart went out to the desolate young girl, alone in a strange land, with her dead father beside her.