“If he hadn’t lost the letter with the address on it, or if we could remember it, we’d write again. ’Twas a name I’d never heard before, nor had Molly. I reckon that old letter got into the stove, somehow, and so there’s no way to write again. Seems like I can never forgive myself if the fault is mine. Your loving Uncle Barney.”
So, after all, the dream ended. Muriel was never to know the father she had loved so long. With a sigh that was half a sob, she arose and walked slowly back toward the school, when she saw one of the younger pupils racing toward her.
“Muriel Storm, you’re wanted in the parlor. There’s someone to see you. It’s a man and he’s elegant looking.”
Muriel’s heart leaped. Could it be that her father had come, after all?
When Muriel appeared in the doorway of the reception room, Miss Gordon rose, as did the man who was at her side.
Advancing with outstretched hands, the principal said: “Dear girl, why didn’t you tell me about it? I wasn’t at all prepared for the message that this gentleman has brought to us.” Then turning to the man, who was gazing with unconcealed interest at the tall, beautiful girl, Miss Gordon added: “Muriel, this is Mr. Templeton of London. He has come at the request of your father, who is not strong enough just now to make the voyage, and, if you desire, you are to return with Mr. Templeton at once. Your passage has been engaged on a steamship leaving Hoboken tomorrow at daybreak.”
The girl gazed from one to the other as though scarcely able to comprehend. Then, slowly, a light dawned in her clear hazel eyes and she said: “My father, my own father, he wants me?”
Mr. Templeton was deeply moved and stepping forward he took both hands of the girl as he said sincerely:
“Indeed, Miss Muriel, he does want you. I never saw a man more affected than he was when he learned that he had a daughter living. He wanted to come to you at once, but he has been ill and his physician advised against the voyage as the sea is none too quiet in the spring. And so I have been sent to accompany you to your father if you will trust me.”
The girl’s questioning gaze turned toward Miss Gordon, who smilingly nodded. “It is right, dear, that you should go,” she said. “I have telephoned to Dr. Winslow and he will be here this afternoon. Now you had better go to your room. I will send a maid to help you pack.”