But how had time passed with her since she and her mother had left Mrs. Bruce's kindly shelter? Nora made no effort to unravel the mystery of her silence until she was seated in the elder Miss Harleford's room.
With her usual impetuosity Penny had gone directly to her aunt, holding Nora by the hand, and introducing her briefly and joyfully as:
"Nora Phillips's daughter. We found each other, aunt," cried Penny, still rather inclined to be tearful.
Then Nora's bonnet and cloak were removed. She was seated in a comfortable chair before the fire, and presently a cozy tea-tray heaped with delicacies was at her side, Penny declaring she was to be feasted on everything good the Deanery larder contained. Neither of her two new friends was surprised to hear that Nora had been violently ill since she bade good-by to Mrs. Bruce. The widow and her daughter had gone to London, trusting to find employment in the large city; but there, in the poor lodging they had found, Nora fell ill, a low fever prostrating her just as her mother most needed her help.
"As soon as I got better," said Nora, "I began to think of seeing Mrs. Bruce—I had a fancy she might give me work in her shop. I was afraid to write, for fear that her hard-hearted son would not let her have the letter, and then—it was queer," added Nora, with a little flickering smile—"I was so sure that screen was bought for you, I made up my mind to try and find you, and perhaps you would let mamma have it again—the loss of it always grieved her—and perhaps you might give her work. Often and often when I was so ill and weak I used to think of the garden here, and fancy I could hear your name, 'Penelope,' and then everything seemed to be confused, and I fancied you were with me. As soon as I was better I persuaded mamma to let me come here. You know we have had to sell nearly everything we own, and to buy my ticket down here I sat up two nights working for our landlady in London. She is an actor's wife, and I helped her in making some costumes; but you don't know the feeling I had about seeing you. I kept saying to myself over and over, 'Penelope, Penelope—I will find her.' And so I did, for I was just coming from the train when I saw you. Oh, I could not help speaking your name aloud!"
"And how glad I am that you did!" cried Penelope, pressing Nora's hand. "Well, I'm sure it has all turned out beautifully, and all through Lion's thought of me—dear old Lion!"
The Deanery was in a state of pleasurable excitement that evening. First of all, a trusted old servant was dispatched to London to bring Mrs. Mayne back with her. What solid comforts went with old Harriet only she and Penelope knew; but certain it is the actor's family feasted on good things for a week to come. Then Penny established Nora in a pretty room near her own, insisting upon her going to bed, as she was so utterly exhausted. Nora lay still in the soft white bed, thoroughly happy, in spite of the queer sense that she must be dreaming. When Penelope left her alone, she raised herself in bed, gazing around at the pretty chintz-hung room, smiling at the reflection of her own face in the long mirror opposite. Finally she fell into a comfortable sleep, that now familiar name mingling with her dreams. Aunt Letitia, coming in to look at the girl, heard the name on her lips, "Penelope," and she said to herself, "Yes, I know Penny is doing just what her dear father would like."
What Penny was doing just then was to make her uncle feel for once he was the guardian of a very self-willed young lady. During dinner-time Penny discoursed eloquently upon the Maynes, repeating Nora's story with many exclamations of her own, and winding up by asking her uncle to grant her an hour alone in his study.
The Dean consented, wondering what his bright, impulsive Penelope had in her mind to say to him, and he was not surprised when she declared her intention of assuming full charge of the Maynes.
"I have nothing in the world to do," said Penny, making a little grimace as she sat in the lamp-light of her uncle's study; "and just reflect, uncle, what a responsibility a fortune like mine is. Why, it ought to be considered in trust, nearly all of it, for other people. I never felt half so interested in any one as I am in Nora Mayne. Now I'll tell you what I propose: I shall ask Nora and her mother to pay me a long visit at Harleford. There I can manage it so that Mrs. Mayne will not feel herself dependent. You know how much there is to do; and I will regularly agree with Nora that she is to be my companion at a fixed salary, don't you see? If it turns out badly, you, are at liberty to send them back to America, if you will manage that they have a sum settled on them which they will never know comes from me. Now, uncle," added Penny, laying her pretty cheek against the Dean's, "you may as well give in first as last."