Austin, hearing it, dashed from the room and down the stairs.
Chapter Twenty Nine.
Contains many Surprises.
Wingate, hearing Grant’s cry as he opened the hall-door, had only reached the head of the stairs, followed by Sheila, when he met the faithful old butler rushing towards him, crying—“Oh, Miss Sheila, we have—we have a visitor! Come down.” In the hall stood Reginald Monkton! He was sadly and woefully changed from the alert, vigorous man from whom his daughter had parted on that fateful night which seemed so far distant. The once upright figure was stooping with fatigue and weariness, his face was thin and shrunken, his fine eyes, that used to flash forth scorn on his opponents, had lost their brilliant fire. Behind him stood Mrs Saxton, dressed in a sober garb of grey.
As he caught sight of Sheila, a broken cry escaped from him: “At last, at last, my beloved child.”
Sheila sprang forward, and in a moment they were locked in each other’s arms, tears of happiness raining down her face.
For some seconds nobody spoke a word. Austin Wingate was trying hard to control his emotion. Grant, in the background, was crying like a child. Then Mrs Saxton advanced, her own eyes dim with the pathos of the scene—of this sudden reunion of father and daughter.
“I have brought him back to you,” she said, in a voice that trembled. “But he is very weak and ill. Let us take him to the library at once. You shall learn everything from me.”