When told of the errand upon which he was to go, he had consented for the sake of the dying man; but he had expected to find a very rustic couple in this rough region, and he was wholly taken aback to meet a polished gentleman like Mr. Heath—as he was still known except to Virgie and her father—and such an interesting and lovely woman as his young hostess appeared to be.
The clergyman spent an hour with the invalid after tea, and he was no less mystified and astonished regarding him. He realized that he was in a household of more than ordinary culture and refinement, and he was sure that there must be some strange history connected with their lives.
When Virgie went to bid her father good-night before going to her rest, he drew her down to him and looked tenderly and wistfully into her face.
"My daughter," he questioned, "you have no shrinking no misgivings regarding the step that you are about to take?"
"None, papa," she said, softly.
"And are you happy in the prospect of becoming Sir William's wife? Tell me truly, my child."
"As happy as I can be while you are so ill, papa," Virgie answered, with starting tears.
"Then I am at peace. God bless you, my darling, and may your life have much of sunshine in it. I give you without fear into Will's care, for I believe him to be one of nature's noblemen. And now," taking a package from beneath his pillow, here is your marriage dowry; it is all yours, Virgie, to do with as you will, and Sir William has promised to settle as much more upon you, which he will tell you about later. You have been a dear, good daughter to me, and I am very happy regarding your future; I could not ask or wish anything better for you."
"Oh, papa, if I could only have you well again!" Virgie whispered, hiding her tearful eyes upon his pillow.
An expression of pain flitted over the sick man's face.