A HAPPY SURPRISE.
The gardener's boy came on a run to take Binnie when Nan Barrington
dismounted, and then the girl holding out her hand to her companion said,
"Good-bye, Robert Widdemere. I would ask you to dine with us since it is
Thanksgiving, but I know that it is right that you should be with your
mother."
"But I'll be over by mid-afternoon, Nan," the lad earnestly replied, "and
I shall ask you again the same question that I did this morning, but it
will be with my mother's consent. Good-bye, dear, brave comrade."
As Nan turned into the house, she noticed a handsome car standing in the
drive. For the moment, she had forgotten the visitor about whom they had
wondered. Her heart was heavy with dread. What if it were someone who had
come to tell Miss Dahlia about her lost fortune.
As she entered the wide hall, Miss Dahlia appeared in the library door
and beckoned to her, and so the beautiful girl, dressed in crimson and
gold, her cheeks flushed, her dark eyes glowing, accompanied her aunt,
who seemed very much excited about something.
A tall, elegant gentleman was standing near the hearth.
"Monsieur Alecsandri," the little lady said, "this is the gypsy girl for
whom you are searching. This is my Nan."
Unheeded the tears rolled down the wrinkled cheeks of Miss Dahlia as the
stranger, with evident emotion, stepped forward, and held out both hands
to the wondering girl, "And so you are Elenan, my dear sister's little
daughter."
Nan looked, not only amazed, but distressed. "Oh, sir," she cried, "you
are not a gypsy. My mother, wasn't she a gypsy after all?" Tears sprang
to her dark eyes and the hand which Miss Dahlia held was trembling. The
gentleman seemed surprised, but the little old lady explained, "Our Nan
has been picturing her mother and father all these years as gypsies, and
it is hard for her to change her thought about them."
The man advanced and took the girl's hands, and looking down at her
earnestly, he said sincerely: "I am glad to find that you are not ashamed
of your father's people, for he truly was a gypsy. He was Manna Lou's
only brother. Now, if we may all be seated I will tell you the story.
Your mother was born in a grey stone chateau overlooking the Danube
River. Our father died when she was very young and our mother soon
followed and so my orphaned little sister was left to my care. I thought
that I was doing my best for her when I had her instructed in languages
and arts, and then, just as she was budding into a charming and
cultivated young womanhood, I had her betrothed to a descendant of Prince
Couza.
"Other Rumanian young ladies envied my sister the social position which
this alliance would give her, but Elenan begged me not to coerce her to
marry a man whom she did not love. I was stern and unrelenting. All too
late I learned that my sister loved Romola, a gypsy musician who was so
rarely gifted that as a boy he had often played at the court for the king
and queen. From them he had received many favors. He was placed in a
monastery school to be educated, and, at his request, his younger sister
Manna Lou was placed in a convent where she learned many things that
other girls of her race never knew, but when they were old enough to do
as they wished, gypsy fashion, they returned to the roaming life which
was all that their ancestors had ever known.
"Often, Romola played the small harp he had fashioned in the court of
Prince Couza, and it was there my sister met him. They loved each other
dearly and were secretly married. I was away in another part of the
country at the time, and, when I returned they had been gone for a
fortnight. I searched everywhere for the gypsy band to which Romola
belonged, but no one knew where it had gone."
The gentleman looked thoughtfully at the girl for a moment and then he
continued: "I never fully abandoned the search, but, not knowing that
they had come to America, I followed clues that led nowhere. I now know
what happened. The son of Queen Mizella, fearing arrest for some misdeed,
crossed the ocean to America and with them was my sister disguised as a
gypsy.
"But on the voyage over your father Romola sickened and died. My poor
sister was heart-broken and lived only long enough to give birth to a
daughter, whom she left in the care of Manna Lou. She asked that kind
gypsy woman to bring you up as one of her own band until you were
eighteen. Then as your mother knew, you would inherit her share of the
Alecsandri estate, and she asked Manna Lou, if it were possible when you
reached that age to take you back to Rumania and to me. This, of course,
the faithful gypsy woman could not do, but, with her band, she returned
last summer and came to tell me the story. I had long grieved over my
sister's loss not knowing to what desperation I had driven her, and so I
at once set sail for America in search of her child. All that Manna Lou
could tell me was that you had left the caravan near San Seritos, in
California. When I arrived here and made inquiries, I learned that a
gypsy girl had been adopted five years ago by Miss Barrington, and now,
my quest is ended. I have found my sister's little girl."
Before Nan could reply. Miss Dahlia, glancing out of the window,
exclaimed: "Nan, darling, Robert Widdemere is coming, and his mother is
with him."
The girl sprang up. "Aunt Dahlia, Monsieur Alecsandri, if you will excuse
me, I will admit Mrs. Widdemere and Robert. I would rather meet them
alone." And so, before the lad had time to lift the heavy carved knocker,
the door was opened by Nan. After a rather formal greeting, she led them
into a small reception room.
It was hard for her to understand why Mrs. Widdemere had come, and she
still felt dazed because of all she had so suddenly learned of her own
dear mother.
"Won't you be seated?" the girl heard herself saying. Then to her
surprise, Mrs. Widdemere, who had always so disliked her, took both of
her hands, as she said "Miss Barrington, can you ever forgive me for the
unkind way that I have treated you? My son has been telling me what a
splendid, brave girl you are, and when I compare with you the one I
wanted him to marry, how sadly she is found wanting. Only yesterday I
received a letter telling me that she had left her mother, who is in deep
sorrow, to accompany a party of gay friends on a pleasure trip to Europe.
You cannot think how glad I am that my son did not heed my wishes in this
matter."
Nan listened to this outburst, as one who could hardly comprehend, and
for a moment she did not reply. Then she asked slowly, "Mrs. Widdemere,
do I understand that you are now willing that your son should marry a
gypsy girl?"
"Oh, Miss Barrington, Nan, what matters one's ancestry when the
descendants of noble families are themselves so often ignoble? I have
been a vain, foolish woman, but I know that true worth counts more than
all else. If you can't forgive me, because I wish it, then try to forgive
me for the sake of my son."
Tears gathered in the dark eyes of the girl, as she said, "Mrs.
Widdemere, first I had a kind gypsy-aunt, Manna Lou, then two dear
adopted aunts and no one could have been more loving than they, but now,
at last, I am to have someone whom I can call 'mother.'"
"Thank you dear," the woman said, "I shall try to deserve so lovely and
lovable a daughter. Robert, my son, you and I are much to be
congratulated."
The lad, who had been standing quietly near, leaped forward and catching
the hands of the girl whom he loved, he said joyously. "Nan, darling,
let's have our wedding tomorrow out under the pepper tree."
The girl smiled happily, and then, suddenly remembering the waiting
visitor, she said, "Mrs. Widdemere, I would like you and Robert to meet
my uncle, who has just arrived from Rumania."
"A Rumanian gypsy," the lady was thinking, as she followed the girl.
"That country is full of them."
A moment later, after greeting Miss Dahlia, she saw an elegant gentleman
approaching and heard Nan saying, "Mrs. Widdemere, may I present my
uncle, Monsieur Alecsandri?"
"Your uncle, Nan?" that lady exclaimed. "Surely this gentleman is not a
gypsy."
"No, indeed, madame, I am not, but I am proud to be the uncle of this
little gypsy girl." He placed his hand lovingly on the dark head. "Elenan
is my sister's child, but her father was Romola, one of the handsomest
and most talented of gypsies."
Then, that Robert and his mother might clearly understand, the story was
retold from the beginning. The lad leaped forward, his hands outheld. "Oh
Nan," he cried, "how glad you are that after all you are a real gypsy."
Then he thought of something and turning toward the gentleman, he said in
his frank, winning way. "Monsieur, Nan and I were to have been married
soon. May we have your consent?"
The foreigner, although surprised and perhaps disappointed if he had
hoped his sister's daughter would return with him, was most gracious. "If
the very kind woman with whom I find our Elenan has given her permission,
I also give mine."
There were sudden tears in the gentle eyes of the older woman. She had
known of course, that some day these two would wed, but now, how could
she live without Nan? Her hesitation was barely noticeable, then she said
bravely. "I shall be proud, indeed, to have Robert Widdemere for a
nephew."
Nan, noting the quivering lips, took her benefactress by the hand as she
said brightly; "Oh, Aunt Dahlia, what do you think? I forgot our
Thanksgiving dinner."
"But I didn't forget it!" that little lady quite herself again replied.
"Mrs. Sperry has been in our kitchen all of the morning, and here she
comes now to announce that dinner is ready for us and our three most
welcomed guests."
Nan's cup of joy seemed full to the over-flowing but the day held for her
still another happiness.