Naturally, Edgar had not been home long before he paid a visit to the Wyldes, and he found Muriel looking more charming than ever. After several years of travel, Edgar felt it was high time he settled down and devoted himself to business seriously. He knew his father was moderately well off, but he was determined to get his own living, and not rely upon him. He did not know that Mrs. Wylde was a wealthy woman, or he would perhaps have felt some diffidence in proposing to Muriel.
Will Brown and Doris Foster were married soon after Edgar’s return, and resided in a comfortable house at Putney.
When Edgar had been at home some time, the secretary of the M—— Cricket Club died, and Robert Foster thought it would be a good place for his son. The salary was excellent, and the work such as Edgar liked, and knew a good deal about.
At a meeting of the club Edgar’s name came up, and the committee decided in his favour, at the same time suggesting that he should play when required. This suited Edgar’s plans admirably, and it was somewhat of a novelty to see the secretary of such a club taking a prominent position in the cricket-field.
Feeling his position secure, and having now an ample income for his wants, Edgar asked Muriel Wylde to marry him at an early date, and she consented. The wedding took place at Twickenham Church, and never had the sun shone on a prettier bride, or a more manly-looking bridegroom.
Prosperity dogged Edgar’s footsteps, for he invested a considerable sum in mines in West Australia, and being well advised, his speculation proved successful. As the years rolled on he became a devoted husband and father, and he taught his sons to be honest and manly, and to earn for themselves a good name as lads of mettle.
In the cricket-field Edgar constantly distinguished himself, and many a century was recorded to his credit. Through his management the club of which he was secretary advanced by leaps and bounds, until financially it stood far above the average run of clubs, and in the cricket-field had twice held the honours at the close of the season.
News from Sydney came frequently, and kept Edgar in touch with the world over the water, for which he had a great affection.
Many years after Edgar Foster left Sydney for the last time an old man and a lovely girl were sitting on the cliffs at Watson’s Bay. Below them the vast expanse of sea lay calm and still. Hardly a ripple stirred the placid surface of the water, as it gently lapped over the smooth worn slabs of rock at the base of the cliffs. A faint breeze fanned the faces of the old man and the beautiful girl, and waved his white beard gently, and caressingly lingered amidst her silken hair. It was easy to see they were father and daughter, for she resembled him very much.