HOPES REALIZED.
"A kind, true heart, a spirit high,
That would not fear and would not bow,
Were written in his manly eye
And on his manly brow."--BURNS.
Home again at last! How good it was to see the doctor at the station, to
drive with dear old Peter and Brownie along the familiar road, to
breathe the sweet pure air scented with pine and heather!
"After all," Marjory said to her uncle, "there can't be any place in the
world just like dear little old Heathermuir. I love every bit of it."
"'East, west, hame's best,'" quoted the doctor. "No, my dear, there's no
place like it, not even New York!" with a smile at the recollection of
his late experiences.
"What a lot you must have to tell me!" said Marjory. "And, uncle dear, I
hope you haven't forgotten that to-morrow is my fifteenth birthday, and
you've always promised to tell me everything I want to know on that
day."
"Yes, yes," replied the doctor evasively. "By the way, Marjory, you'll
find a surprise awaiting you at the Brae; we've a new member of our
household," smiling.
"Who can it be?"
"Wait and see. It's a kind of a sort of a birthday present, but I am not
sure that you will be altogether pleased."
Marjory laughed.
"It sounds as if it might be some sort of an animal. O _uncle_," in
dismay, "I _hope_ you haven't brought a monkey from America!"
"No," laughing.
"Perhaps it's a parrot, then, or--no--_surely_ not a nigger!"
"No; it's not a coloured gentleman or lady, as I have lately been taught
to call them."
"Oh dear, I do wonder what it is! But there's the house at last, and
dear old Lisbeth's round smiling face, and my darling Silky. Oh, it is
good to be at home again!" And Marjory nestled close to her uncle for a
moment, and then sprang out of the cart and began hugging Lisbeth in the
most boisterous fashion.
But who was this standing shyly in the background? Here was indeed a
surprise. This girl with the smooth sleek head, the neat gown and
spotless apron and cap, could it be Mary Ann Smylie, the rich miller's
daughter? Yes, indeed it was. But what could it mean? Quite bewildered,
Marjory held out her hand to the girl. "I am glad to see you, Mary Ann,"
she said.
Tears were in Mary Ann's eyes as she replied, "Thank you, Miss Marjory;
I'm very glad to be here." And she disappeared at once in the direction
of the kitchen.
"This _is_ a surprise," said Marjory, looking inquiringly at her uncle
and then at Lisbeth. Each seemed to expect the other to speak.
"Weel, it was this way," began Lisbeth. "Yon puir lassie's feyther, no
content wi' bein' just a plain man like ony ither miller, must needs try
to mak a big fortune, and some o' thae speculatin' deils--I canna ca'
them by ony ither name--got hand o' the auld man, an' ae fine day his
fortune's awa--the vera hoose he's livin' in no his ain, a' signed awa,
an' he in debt. His puir silly wife was clean dementit, an' this girl
wi' naething but her buik-learnin' an' sic like rubbish to stand by.
There was naebody wantit her to teach their bairns, and yon grandee o' a
schulemistress telt the puir lassie she wasna competent for teachin',
an' that efter a' the guid money her feyther had spent upo' her
learnin'. Weel, Mary Ann she comes to me, an' says, 'Will ye gie me wark
at Hunters' Brae?' says she. 'The doctor's awa,' says I, but she begged
that hard I couldna say no to the creature. 'I'm willin' to learn,' says
she, 'an' if so's I could wait upo' Miss Marjory I'd be more nor set
up.' She cried sae, and looked that peekit an' meeserable, I hadna the
heart to send her off, sae I e'en kept her here, thinkin' the doctor,
guid man, wouldna blame me for the bit she ate an' drank till he cam
hame."
"Yes," put in the doctor, "when I got back yesterday I found Mary Ann
comfortably settled. I suppose she thought that if she had won over
Lisbeth the rest was easy," laughing. "I'm sorry for the girl, and I
dare say she can be made useful here in many ways. As you are getting
on, Marjory, it will be nice for you to have a maid of your own to look
after your fallals; but the question is, Do you like the girl well
enough to have her about you? This is your home, and I don't want to
insist upon anything that would be unpleasant to you."
Marjory remembered her old grudge against Mary Ann, but she could hardly
connect the quiet, subdued person who had just disappeared, weeping,
with the frizzy-haired, overdressed, and affected girl at the post
office.
"Poor Mary Ann! Let her stay, uncle. I'm sure we shall get on quite
well."
"That's settled then," said the doctor, with relief. He had been a
little afraid that Lisbeth's philanthropy might not be quite to
Marjory's liking.
Dr. Hunter was strangely restless that evening--sad and merry by turns.
Marjory herself felt very excited as she thought of the morrow.
When she went to bid her uncle good-night, he drew her to him very
tenderly. "So you are really glad to be at home again, my child," he
said, stroking her hair.
"Very, very glad," was the reply, and the dark eyes shone with tears.
"You love the old place, then?"
"Oh yes, I do; but it wouldn't be the same without you." And she rubbed
her cheek against his.
"And you love your old uncle in spite of all his mistakes and queer
ways?"
"I love you better than any one else in the whole world," she said
simply.
He kissed her very tenderly, and then put her away from him with a sigh.
"Go, my child, sleep well; to-morrow is a new day, and begins a new life
for you."
"Better than any one else in the whole world," he repeated to himself
when Marjory had left him. This had been his heart's desire, his scheme
from the beginning--that his beloved sister's child should be his, and
that he should be her all, and first in her affections; and now had come
his punishment for that selfish wish. The child had made this open
avowal of her feeling for him on the eve of the very day on which he
must renounce her, must give her up to another with a better right than
he to that first place in her love. He had done wrong; he had made what
amends he could, and the rest was in God's hands. Would this girl,
growing sweeter and more lovable year by year, take away her affection
from the uncle and give it all to the father? Would she forget the old
man and all his care for her? Then he thought of the honest eyes as they
had looked into his, clear and steadfast. Surely he had caught a glimpse
of the loving, faithful heart within; surely that heart would prove
large enough for love of both. He could no longer expect to be first,
but surely he was wronging the child and all that he knew of her by the
mere suggestion that she would change towards him, and the memory of her
look and her caress comforted him.
* * * * *
Marjory's fifteenth birthday had come at last, and she stood in her
mother's room.
The sunlight streamed across the faded hangings and the panelled walls,
flooding the place with brightness. It seemed hardly possible that it
had been unused for so many years. Lisbeth had worked in it so
faithfully week by week that, beyond the fading of the curtains and the
rugs which lay about the polished floor, there was nothing to indicate
that it had been unoccupied for so long.
There were flowers about the room; there was a work-basket on a small
table by the window; and an embroidery frame with a half-finished piece
of work in it stood near, just as if its owner might have been working
at it yesterday. It was altogether a dainty apartment, and bore evidence
in every corner of the girlish fancies of its former mistress. The
pictures on the walls were all of a romantic description; the books on
the shelves could almost have told the tale of Marjory Hunter's
childhood and girlhood. Fairy tales there were in plenty, and the rest
were of the tender, sentimental kind--love poems and the like. If
Blanche Forester had been describing the collection, she would have said
that there was not a single dry book amongst them--the word "dry" in her
vocabulary meaning anything from uninteresting to instructive! Had the
doctor only known it, he need not have feared the attraction of these
books for his niece. Marjory required something stronger and more active
in character--stories of great men and women, histories of the world and
its wonders, something stirring and stimulating.
Marjory stood in her mother's room--alone. Her feelings as she entered
this chamber of her dreams were those of awe and expectation of she knew
not what. She gave one quick glance around, but she had eyes for nothing
at present but a picture--a picture of a man with a strong, handsome
face, and dark hair and eyes which she knew resembled her own. Beside it
was another picture--that of a fair-haired girl, her mother. "How sweet
she must have been!" thought Marjory, and her eyes turned again to the
other picture.
That other picture, would the doctor have confessed it, was one of the
chief reasons why he did not wish Marjory to enter her mother's room.
With that speaking, impressive portrait of her father continually before
her eyes, could the child be taught to ignore and forget him? The doctor
had an almost superstitious dislike of having anything moved at Hunters'
Brae. His sister had ordered Hugh Davidson's portrait to be hung in her
room; there it must stay, but Marjory should not see it until he thought
fit.
Marjory now stood gazing at the picture. This, then, was the hero of her
dreams and hopes, that father who had been the central figure in many a
tale of stirring adventure, hairbreadth escape, and brave deed--tales
which she had told herself many a time. But this was a figure even more
splendid than that of her imagination. The strong, square chin and
determined mouth, the flashing, piercing eyes under the dark brows--all
spoke of the strength and courage of a Coeur de Lion or a Napoleon.
She could not take her eyes off the picture. How proud of him she would
have been! was her sad thought, but it seemed no use hoping any more.
She must begin afresh to-day, and try to be content without him. It
would be very hard, for the hope had been very dear to her.
Suddenly there was a knock at the door, and a strange voice called, "May
I come in, Marjory?"
Who could this be, calling her by her Christian name, and yet in a voice
she did not know? She must be dreaming; but no--the voice called again,
"May I come in, Marjory?"
"Come in," she said, turning towards the door with a puzzled and
inquiring expression on her face.
"I've brought you a large and handsome birthday present," said the
doctor's voice, as he almost pushed Mr. Davidson into the room. Then he
shut the door, and left the father and daughter confronting each other.
There was a moment's silence. Marjory looked at the tall man with the
noble gray head, the lined forehead that told of years of sorrow and
care. Time had set its marks upon the face, but it was the face of the
picture. At last--somehow, and from somewhere--her father had been
brought to her. The man held out his arms, and she crept into them,
sobbing with wonder and delight and other feelings to which she could
not have given a name, as he murmured, "My own little girl, come to me."
That moment seemed to sweep away all the sad memories of her longings
and yearnings. Never again would she feel that she was an orphan, really
belonging to nobody. Her father, her very own, had come to her at last.
How good it was!
It may well be imagined that these two had much to say to each other.
Mr. Davidson told his child of her sweet young mother, as he took her
round the room, showing her the various treasures, which were in their
places just as they had been in the old time when he knew that room so
well. In the work-basket was a dainty little garment which had been
intended for Marjory. It was not finished; the rusty needle, with its
thread yellow with age, was still in it, just as the worker had left it.
Mr. Davidson took up the little bundle of muslin and lace and reverently
kissed it.
"Thank God for you, my darling," he said, "and for this good day that
gives you to me!" And he kissed Marjory again.
Marjory showed her father the locket and chain which she always wore.
Yes, he knew it; it was one he had given to her mother. But he did not
add that at that time it had contained a picture of himself. And the
coin? Yes, he had the other half; and he told Marjory how he and that
other Marjory had split it for luck, and how each had promised to wear
it always.
There was much questioning and answering of questions between them, and
at last came the inevitable one which Mr. Davidson had expected and
dreaded,--
"Why did you never come before?"
He looked into his daughter's eyes.
"Can you trust me when I tell you that there was a reason I cannot
explain which made it impossible until now, and when I tell you that it
was not my fault, and that as soon as the reason was removed I came to
you? Will you be content to believe me, and ask no more questions?"
Marjory returned her father's look, a world of trust and confidence in
her eyes. "Yes," she replied; and from that moment they understood each
other.
And Marjory never knew the answer to that question. Mrs. Forester kept
her own counsel, and so did Mr. Hilary Forester, and they were the only
people besides the principals themselves who knew the truth.
"My beloved did cross the sea, after all," said Marjory to her uncle,
when they joined him later.
"Quite right; so he did," replied the doctor.
"And you believe the old prophecy now?" triumphantly.
The doctor laughed.
"I can hardly say that," he answered. "It has just happened so, that's
all."
The doctor had persuaded Mr. Davidson to wait until Marjory's birthday
before making himself known to her, in order that the day might be a
red-letter one in her life. The Foresters had kept the secret carefully,
Captain Shaw had kept his, and not a whisper had gone abroad of the
wonderful event about to happen, and all had fallen out just as the
doctor had planned and wished.
There were great rejoicings at Hunters' Brae that day, and in the
evening there was a large and merry birthday party. Mr. and Mrs.
Forester and Blanche, Mr. and Mrs. Hilary Forester and Maud, the
Morisons, with Herbert and Alan, all came with a welcome for Mr.
Davidson and congratulations for Marjory.
Earlier in the day, Captain and Mrs. Shaw had come together, as they had
done once before, to be congratulated on their own happy reunion.
"There's nothing like the forgetting of old bygones," said the captain,
as he wrung Mr. Davidson's hand, "and there's no happiness so sweet as
when it's been long in coming, sir. I wish you and dear Miss Marjory
many happy returns of the day."
The doctor had been wondering what Mr. Davidson's plans for the future
would be. Would it be part of his punishment that the father would take
his child to far-away Skaguay and keep her to himself? It would be
natural enough, perhaps, but he thought with a pang of the difference it
would make to him. Life at Hunters' Brae would be sad for him without
the girl. This matter weighed heavily upon his mind, but he dared not
speak upon the subject for fear of hastening a decision.
At last one day Mr. Davidson spoke his mind. He must go back to Alaska,
and would take Marjory with him, but--and here Dr. Hunter's heart almost
stopped beating--he would retire from business. He had enough and to
spare for Marjory and himself, and he looked forward to settling down at
home.
"Here, here!" interrupted the doctor then. "The Brae will eventually be
Marjory's. If you can forgive the past, Hugh, make this your home. You
shall not regret it, I promise you. I do believe I have laid that old
ghost of jealousy at last. All I have is to be Marjory's. My old age
would be comfortless indeed if I were doomed to spend it here alone.
Perhaps that is what I deserve, but do give the old place a trial. The
child loves it."
"It is associated in my mind with the happiest time of my life," replied
Mr. Davidson earnestly. "No other place could seem so like home to me."
And so it was settled. Marjory was delighted at the idea of travelling
with her father--of crossing that wonderful sea which had brought her
beloved. She was enchanted by the prospect, but, as she said, it would
not have been so delightful if she had not been able to look forward to
coming home again at the end of her travels--home to her uncle at
Hunters' Brae.
There was a certain clause in the doctor's will which he discussed with
his niece and her father before they started on their journey. He had
made the stipulation that, when the time came that Marjory should become
possessor of Hunters' Brae, and of all that he had to leave, she should
adopt the surname of Hunter. Marjory clapped her hands when she heard
this.
"There's the prophecy again," she cried, quoting,--
"'The Hunters' line shall ne'er decline
Till the muir doth pass away.'"
"Nonsense!" replied the doctor. "It is merely a question of title and
property. Had there been a male Hunter living, the Brae would have been
his; and it is stated in the original deeds that, in the event of the
sole descendant being a girl, she must take the family name, and give it
to her husband when she marries. The person who wrote that rubbish
probably knew of this when he scribbled his so-called prophecy."
"You are always so scornful about those prophecies, uncle dear," said
Marjory, laughing. "I think they are so interesting and so true. I shall
copy them out and put my notes to them, as my grandmother did."
So Marjory was quite happy at last. Her childhood had had its
troubles--very real ones while they lasted. Then friendship had come to
lighten them, and wise, loving words from a motherly woman, who had
taught her to look away from self, to find happiness in thinking of
others. In so doing, she had found her way into her uncle's heart, and
the finding of it had brought ample reward. And now had come this
crowning joy of all--the meeting with her father at last, the
realization that he was all and more than all her fancy had painted him.
She felt that her cup of happiness was full. Looking back over the
past, she could sing with the poet,--
"What had I then? A hope that grew
Each hour more bright and dear,
The flush upon the eastern skies
That showed the sun was near.
Now night has faded far away,
My sun has risen, and it is day."
THE END.
* * * * *
The Girls' Select Library.
CHOICE TALES, STORIES, AND BIOGRAPHIES.
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=Above Rubies;= or, Memoirs of Christian Gentlewomen. By Miss
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=Ada and Gerty;= or, Hand in Hand Heavenward. A Story of School Life. By
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=Aunt Judith.= The Story of a Loving Life. By GRACE BEAUMONT.
=The Children of Abbotsmuir Manse.= By LOUISA M. GRAY.
=Dunalton.= The Story of Jack and his Guardians. By LOUISA M.
GRAY.
=The Early Choice.= A Book for Daughters. By the late Rev. W. K.
TWEEDIE, D.D.
=Earnest Women.= Their Efforts, Struggles, and Triumphs. By J.
JOHNSON.
=Isabel's Secret;= or, A Sister's Love. By the Author of "The Story of a
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=Margie at the Harbour Light.= A Story for the Young. By the Rev.
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=Nelly's Teachers, and What They Learned.= By LOUISA M. GRAY.
=Stories of the Lives of Noble Women.= A Series of Biographical Sketches
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=The Story of Madge Hilton;= or, Left to Themselves. By AGNES C.
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=Following Heavenward;= or, The Story of Alfred Reid. By PANSY.
=All's Well that Ends Well.= A Story of Brittany. By Miss GAYE,
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=Little Susy's Six Birthdays.= And Other Stories. By Mrs.
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Crown 8vo Volumes. Cloth extra, 4s. each; gilt edges, 5s. each.
=Exiles in Babylon;= or, Children of Light. With Thirty-four
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A lively tale, in which are skilfully introduced lectures on the history
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=Hebrew Heroes.= A Tale founded on Jewish History. With Twenty-eight
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A story founded on that stirring period of Jewish history, the wars of
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"A.L.O.E. invokes the aid of entertaining dialogue, and probably may
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... The book is brilliantly written."--_Presbyterian Messenger_.
=Rescued from Egypt.= With Twenty-eight Illustrations.
An interesting tale, toned and improved by illustrations from the
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=The Shepherd of Bethlehem.= With Forty Illustrations.
A charming tale, including cottage lectures on the history of David,
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* * * * *
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=Beyond the Black Waters.= A Tale.
A story illustrating the truth that "sorrow tracketh wrong," and that
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=The Blacksmith of Boniface Lane.=
A tale having a historical basis. The incidents and characters are
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=Claudia.= A Tale.
A tale for the young. Difference between intellectual and spiritual
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=Cyril Ashley.= A Tale.
An English tale for young persons, illustrative of some of the practical
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=Driven into Exile.=
"One of the best books we have ever received from our old
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=The Forlorn Hope.=
A tale, written in A.L.O.E.'s charming style, of the anti-slavery
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=The Giant-Killer;= or, The Battle which All must Fight.
A tale for the young, illustrating "the battle which all must fight"
with the Giants Sloth, Selfishness, Untruth, Hate, and Pride.
=Harold's Bride.=
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A tale, founded on history, regarding the first medical missionary in
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=The Guiding Pillar.= A Story for the Young. By the Author of "Under the
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An interesting tale for the young, illustrating the sure guidance of the
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=Little Hazel, the King's Messenger.= By the Author of "Little Snowdrop
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A story for the young, showing what a Christian child may do.
=Little Snowdrop and Her Golden Casket.= By the Author of "Little Hazel,
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A tale for the young, illustrative of the preciousness of Scripture
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=The Royal Banner;= or, Gold and Rubies. A Story for the Young. By the
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A well-written story of home and school life. Cannot fail to prove
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* * * * *
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=Archie's Chances.= By the Author of "The Spanish Brothers," etc. With
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* * * * *
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=Captain Polly.= "Thou hast Gained thy Brother." A Story for Young
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A pleasantly-written story, in which the author seeks to show that
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=Cords of Love;= or, Who is My Neighbour? By M. E. CLEMENTS.
=Dick and Harry and Tom;= or, For Our Reaping By-and-by. By FLORENCE
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A story for the young, showing how great is the power of steadfast love
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=Dickie Winton;= or, Between Gate and Front Door. A Story for the Young.
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=Frank's First Term;= or, Making a Man of Him. By HAROLD AVERY.
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=Jack and His Brothers.= By Mrs. AUSTIN DOBSON. With Original
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=Jack and His Ostrich.= An African Story. By ELEANOR STREDDER.
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=Jack's Year of Trial.= By ANNIE S. SWAN. With Illustrations.
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=Jacko.= A Story for the Young. By HARRIETTE E. BURCH.
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* * * * *
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=Aiming Higher;= or, Perseverance and Faithfulness Triumphant. By the
Rev. T. P. WILSON, M.A.
=The Better Way.= A Tale of Temperance Toil. By WILLIAM J.
LACEY.
=By Uphill Paths;= or, Waiting and Winning. By E. VAN SOMMER.
=Chris Willoughby;= or, Against the Current. By FLORENCE E.
BURCH.
=Crooked Places.= A Family Chronicle. By EDWARD GARRETT.
=Dorothy Arden.= A Story of England and France Two Hundred Years Ago. By
J. M. CALLWELL.
=Edith Raymond, and the Story of Huldah Brent's Will.= A Tale. By S.
S. ROBBINS.
=Fighting the Good Fight;= or, The Successful Influence of Well-Doing.
By E. EVERETT-GREEN.
=Frank Oldfield;= or, Lost and Found. By the Rev. T. P. WILSON,
M.A.
=The Golden Woof.= A Story of Two Girls' Lives. By Mrs. I.
SITWELL.
=Lionel Franklin's Victory.= By E. VAN SOMMER.
=Little Miss Wardlaw.= The Story of an Unselfish Life. By L. M.
GRAY.
=The Lost Ring.= A Romance of Scottish History in the Days of King James
and Andrew Melville.
=Molly's Heroine.= By "FLEUR DE LYS."
=The Naresborough Victory.= By the Rev. T. KEYWORTH.
=Nellie O'Neil;= or, Our Summer Time. By AGNES C. MAITLAND.
=No Cross no Crown.= A Tale of the Scottish Reformation. By the Author
of "The Spanish Brothers."
=Owen's Hobby;= or, Strength and Weakness. A Tale. By ELMER
BURLEIGH.
=Pincherton Farm.= By E. A. B. D.
=Premiums Paid to Experience.= Incidents in my Business Life. By
EDWARD GARRETT.
=Right at Last;= or, Family Fortunes. A Tale. By EDWARD
GARRETT, Author of "Occupations of a Retired Life."
=Stepping Heavenward.= A Tale of Home Life. By Mrs. PRENTISS.
* * * * *
The 'Royal' Libraries Of Reward Books in Uniform Bindings.
Containing a Selection of Messrs. Nelson and Sons' Popular Copyright
Tales and Standard Books by the best Authors.
The 'Royal' Two Shilling Library.
=Chronicles of the Schönberg-Cotta Family.= By Mrs. RUNDLE
CHARLES.
=The Spanish Brothers.= By DEBORAH ALCOCK.
=Leonie;= or, Light out of Darkness. By ANNIE LUCAS.
=Isabel's Secret;= _or_, A Sister's Love. By the Author of "The Story of
a Happy Little Girl."
=Ivanhoe.= By Sir WALTER SCOTT.
=The Triple Alliance.= By HAROLD AVERY.
=The Uncharted Island.= By SKELTON KUPPORD.
=In Palace and Faubourg.= By C. J. G.
=Maud Melville's Marriage.= By EVELYN EVERETT-GREEN.
=Kenilworth.= By Sir WALTER SCOTT.
The 'Royal' Eighteenpenny Library.
=The Young Rajah.= By W. H. G. KINGSTON.
=Boris the Bear-Hunter.= By FRED. WHISHAW.
=Afar in the Forest.= By W. H. G. KINGSTON.
=On Angels' Wings.= By Hon. Mrs. GREENE.
=For the Queen's Sake.= By E. EVERETT-GREEN.
=Winning the Victory.= By E. EVERETT-GREEN.
=One Summer by the Sea.= By J. M. CALLWELL.
=Esther's Charge.= By EVELYN EVERETT-GREEN.
=Dulcie's Little Brother.= By E. EVERETT-GREEN.
=Salome.= By Mrs. EMMA MARSHALL.
The 'Royal' Shilling Library.
=The Coral Island.= By R. M. BALLANTYNE.
=The Gorilla Hunters.= By R. M. BALLANTYNE.
=Ungava.= By R. M. BALLANTYNE.
=The Grey House on the Hill;= or, Trust in God and Do the Right. By the
Hon. Mrs. GREENE.
=Sir Aylmer's Heir.= By EVELYN EVERETT-GREEN.
=At the Black Rocks.= By EDWARD A. RAND.
=Soldiers of the Queen.= By HAROLD AVERY.
=The Golden House.= By the Author of "The Swedish Twins."
=The Robber Baron of Bedford Castle.= By A. J. FOSTER and
E. E. CUTHELL.
=Mark Marksen's Secret.= By JESSIE ARMSTRONG.
T. NELSON AND SONS, London, Edinburgh, and New York.
End of Project Gutenberg's Hunter's Marjory, by Margaret Bruce Clarke