The next morning after the sailing of the Dolphin brought to Mrs. Travilla the news that her son Edward and his family, accompanied by Ella Conly, were on their way north, intending first to visit the Lelands at Evelyn’s cottage on the Hudson, then to come on to spend a few weeks with her at the sea-shore.

Everybody was glad, for the departure of so large a number of those who had made up their family for weeks past had left them all feeling somewhat lonely.

Hugh Lilburn felt very loth to leave just as his betrothed was coming, for the visit on the Hudson was not to be a long one; besides, he was unwilling to leave his father to encounter McAlpine without being there himself to defend him in case the Mormon should become abusive.

That he decided in his own mind would be worse than allowing his business interests to suffer somewhat by a prolonged absence from his newly acquired property.

But it was growing late in the season; the cottage nearest to the house occupied by the Dinsmores, Mrs. Travilla, and the others of that party was rented by them for the expected ones from New York, and in a week from the departure of the Dolphin and her passengers they arrived and took possession.

But they were much like one family, taking their meals at the larger house, spending the greater part of the day there or on the beach, or taking walks and drives together.

They had letters now and then from the party in the yacht, who seemed to be enjoying themselves greatly, and in a week after this last arrival the vessel touched at Gloucester, and Mary Keith, Calhoun, Herbert, and Harold landed, spent a few hours in the city, then returned to their sea-side home, where they were welcomed with demonstrations of delight.

They reported that Arthur and his bride seemed to be having a delightful honeymoon and deemed it best to remain on the yacht somewhat longer, unless they should hear of the whereabouts of McAlpine and know that they would be safe from a visit from him, which, unless he became a changed man, would undoubtedly be far from pleasant.

“I told them,” said Calhoun, “that I should rather enjoy giving him a piece of my mind.”

“Yes, probably rather more than he would,” laughed Harold.

“I dare say,” returned Calhoun, “but I can’t say that I am particularly anxious or desirous to give him pleasure. However, I think he will find us too large a party to attack with anything worse than hard words; and those I am by no means unwilling to stand for the sake of my pretty young sister-in-law.”

“Marian is a sweet girl,” said Mary Keith, “and as Dr. Conly’s wife she has made certain her escape from a dreadful fate.”

It was after tea and they were all in the parlor; for it was a cool evening, cloudy and occasionally drizzling a little.

Mary had scarcely ceased speaking when a loud peal from the door-bell startled every one. Harold stepped out to the hall to answer it. There stood a tall, broad-shouldered man, who accosted him with, “How do you do, sir? I understand that this is the house occupied by Mrs. Travilla, Captain Raymond, and others.”

“Mrs. Travilla is here; Captain Raymond is not,” returned Harold. “May I inquire what is your errand to either of them?”

“Yes. I understand that they are harboring here a daughter of mine, considerably under age, who ran away from me some months ago. I have come to take possession of her; and let me say I intend to do so, let who will object.”

“She is not here,” answered Harold.

At that the man pushed him suddenly and rudely aside and walked boldly and defiantly into the parlor. Mr. Lilburn instantly rose and faced him. “William McAlpine, what brings you here?” he asked in stern tones.

“Is it you, Ronald Lilburn?” exclaimed the other in astonishment. “I thought you were in auld Scotland and probably under the sod long ere this. And is it you that’s carried off my bairn?”

“I have never seen Mormon land and didna carry her off,” was Mr. Lilburn’s reply in a tone full of scorn and contempt; “but if I’d had the chance I wad hae rescued her at the risk o’ my life from sic a fate as you—unnatural beast o’ a mon that ye are—had prepared for her. You are worse than a heathen, William McAlpine, wi’ your three or four wives; and you broke the heart o’ Marian’s mither, my ain sweet cousin, who demeaned hersel’ to marry you—a mean fellow not fit to wipe the dust from her shoon.”

At that the man turned white with passion and lifted his clinched fist as if about to strike the old gentleman down. But his son Hugh sprang in between them, and at the same instant Edward and Harold sprang forward and each seized an arm of the stalwart stranger, while Herbert and Calhoun showed themselves ready to assist in preventing him from harming their old friend.

But at that instant a woman’s voice, seemingly coming from the next room, spoke in sadly beseeching tones:

“O Willie, Willie, wad ye harm my own dear auld cousin who has never shown aught but kindness to us and ours? Is it not enough that ye broke the heart o’y ain wife that loved ye better than all the warld beside? And wad ye kill my ain bairn—the bonny lassie that we baith loved so well when she was a wee toddling thing? Dinna meddle wi’ her, Willie; dinna harm a hair o’ her head or I’ll haunt ye to the last day o’ your life. Forsake your sins, Willie, put away your mony wives and be a true servant o’ the Lord, or ye’ll never win to heaven; your soul will be lost and I that loved ye so lang syne will see ye no more forever.”

McAlpine’s face turned ghastly white while he listened and his eyes seemed starting from his head; then as the voice ceased he suddenly wrenched himself free from the hold of Edward and Harold and rushed from the room and the house like one pursued by an avenging foe; they heard his steps echoing down the garden path, out into the road, and away till the sounds were lost in the distance.

Then Mr. Dinsmore spoke, breaking the astonished silence:

“He is badly scared, and I think will hardly return to pursue his search for his missing daughter.”

“I trust not, sir,” responded Cousin Ronald. “Fortunately I was able to remember and reproduce the tones of his dead wife’s voice. My God-given talent is sometimes useful, as well as a source of amusement to my young friends.”

“And older ones also,” Elsie added with a smile.

“Yes, indeed,” said Rosie; “the man fairly frightened me, for he acted as if he were wicked enough to hurt or even kill every one of us. I don’t wonder Marian ran away from him and was so frightened at the very thought of seeing him again.”

“Nor I,” said Zoe, looking at her husband with eyes full of tears. “O my dear Ned, I was so afraid he would do you some dreadful harm! And what if he should even yet; he may come back! Oh, let us shut doors and windows.”

“I think there is hardly any danger of his returning,” remarked Hugh Lilburn in a reassuring tone; “at least not to-night.”

The other gentlemen agreed in that opinion, and the ladies were sufficiently reassured to be able to pass a comfortable night.

But though they were ignorant of the fact, McAlpine was in no condition to injure any of them or even to return to their dwelling.

In the darkness and the confusion of his mind, he had wandered from the path and fallen down a hill, landing on a bed of stones, striking his head on one of them so that he was insensible for some hours, breaking a rib and receiving internal injuries that proved fatal in a very short time. In the morning some one passing heard his groans, went for assistance, and he was carried into a house and a surgeon sent for, who after making an examination told him he had but a few hours to live, and if he had any affairs to settle he would do well to attend to them immediately.

McAlpine was thrown into great distress of mind by the announcement, and begged to have word sent to the house where he had been the night before, with an earnest request that Mr. Lilburn would come to him, for at least a few moments, as he had something he wished to say.

Shocked at the news of the man’s condition, Mr. Lilburn at once hastened to his bedside.

“They tell me I’m a dying mon, Ronald Lilburn, and I maun ease my mind afore I die, wi’ a word for my daughter Marian. Tell her for me that I own I’ve been a hard father to her, and was—O God, forgive me—a cruel, unfaithful husband to her mither after I turned Mormon. It’s a lustful, wicked pretence o’ a religion, is Mormonism, and I dinna want Sandy brought up to believe in it.”

He paused from exhaustion, and Mr. Lilburn told of his plans for Sandy and the offers he had made the lad to educate and start him in life.

“God bless you for it,” returned the dying man. “I find now my death is near that I care more for those two o’ my bairns than I thought. And now I maun think o’ my soul! O Ronald Lilburn, what must I do to be saved? Is there ony hope for such a sinner as I?”

“Yes, William. ‘The blood o’ Jesus Christ his Son cleanseth us from all sin,’ and while there is life there is hope. Flee to Jesus, the sinner’s friend, remembering his own words, ‘Him that cometh unto me I will in no wise cast out.’”

“Lord, I come, I come; be merciful to me a sinner; save me for thine own name’s sake,” came in earnest, pleading tones from the dying lips; a few long-drawn breaths followed and the soul had fled.

The Dolphin was known to be far out at sea; word of her father’s arrival and his speedy and unexpected death could not be sent to Marian, so the body was carried to an undertaker’s and the next day quietly buried from there, Mr. Lilburn, his son, and the other gentlemen of the family attending the funeral services.

When at length the news reached Marian, something of her early love for her father seemed to return to her. She shed some tears over it, yet in a short time her grief was more than swallowed up in a sense of relief.

She was very, very happy with Arthur, who proved himself the kindest and best of husbands. It was not thought necessary that her father’s death should be made known in their home neighborhood, and on her return she dressed as a bride. Her husband had told her of his improved circumstances and was disposed to lavish upon her everything that heart could wish. But she was not extravagant in her tastes or desires, and he was satisfied to let her follow her own inclination in regard to that and the continuing of her studies with Captain Raymond, at least for a time.

That pleased the captain, and he was more than willing to receive her as a pupil when they should all return home and he resume his labors as instructor.

The entire family had now been let into the secret of Arthur’s wonderfully large fee for his medical service to William Croly, and heartily rejoiced with him.

Dr. Dick Percival joined them for a week at the sea-side, after which all returned to their homes.

Calhoun had tried to induce his Mary to follow with him the example set them by his brother and Marian, and Hugh Lilburn let his Ella know that he would be far from objecting to making it a double wedding; but neither lady would consent. Each wished to go home first and make suitable preparations for the important event, Ella adding that Isadore and the other sisters and brothers would have reason to be hurt if she did not invite them all to be present at her wedding.

Mr. and Mrs. Dinsmore and Mrs. Travilla thought she took a proper view of the matter, as did Mary also, in regard to the time and place of her own nuptials.

So Calhoun took her to her own home and left her there, with the understanding that he was to return for her some weeks or months hence—the day having not yet been fixed upon.

But before leaving their sea-side home all spent a day there together. Naturally one of the principal topics of conversation was the approaching journey to their southern homes.

“I wish I could take you all with me in the yacht,” said Captain Raymond, addressing the company in general, “but unfortunately there is not accommodation for so many. Mother, we must have you and Grandpa and Grandma Dinsmore, as it is a more restful way to travel than by the cars. The doctor and his bride are already engaged to us, and we must, I think, take Evelyn, Rosie, and Walter; we should hardly know what to do without them any longer,” he added with his pleasant smile. “We have eight family and passenger state-rooms, and beds can be made up at nights in the saloon,” he continued, “and in that way we can make room for several more.”

He paused for a reply, but no one spoke, each seemingly waiting for the others.

At length Violet said: “I think you and your babies should be with us, Zoe; then of course Edward would need to be there to take care of you all; for he would not be willing to trust that business to any one else. And Harold and Herbert ought to be with their mother, having, poor little lads! been so much away from her for the last few years,” she added in a sportive tone.

Every one approved, and so it was settled. The journey was a safe and prosperous one with all; they arrived at their homes, Ion, Woodburn, and Roselands, without accident or loss, and presently had settled down for the duties and pleasures of the fall and coming winter.

THE END.

Obvious punctuation errors repaired.

Page 78, “beign” changed to “begin” (show was to begin)