  When Muriel entered the house she found awaiting her a letter from Gene, and strange indeed was the postmark, for with his good friend, the Viscount of Wainwater, the lad was traveling in foreign lands. There were several sheets of thin paper and these were covered with such fine handwriting that it took the girl much longer than usual to decipher them. She retired to the doctor’s den directly after the evening meal, and having made a fire on the hearth, she curled up in a big, comfortable chair near the reading table, for she felt that she wanted to be alone while she had this visit with the far-away lad who called himself her brother-friend. The first part of the epistle was devoted to descriptions of their travels and adventures. Then came some personal news items, the most astonishing of these being that Monsieur Carnot had received a cablegram informing him that Marianne was leaving High Cliffs Seminary at once and would return to France to complete her education. Her reason for this unexpected action was not given. Another page was devoted to the viscount. “Sister-friend,” Gene had written, “how I do hope that some day you may meet this wonderful man whose conversation is to me more delightful than any book I have ever read, whose considerate thoughtfulness of all whom we meet, especially those who are poor or in trouble, makes him more a nobleman than does his title. “I have saved until the close of this long, rambling letter a bit of news that will rejoice your heart, even as it did mine. You will recall that you told me that I might show your poem, ‘The Lonely Pelican,’ to my poet-friend, Wayne, but that you would rather that I did not tell him about yourself, although why you made the request I am sure I cannot guess. Muriel, I don’t want you ever to be ashamed of who you are, for though your parents were simple fisherfolk, you are a princess among girls. I am as proud to know you as I am to know the Viscount of Wainwater. This was his comment when he finished reading your little poem: ‘Gene, I would be glad had I written that. It is a lovely thing.’ “Muriel, some day may I tell him about you; how your little girlhood was spent cradled out there on Windy Island among the wild sea waves, companioned by that splendid old man who was one of nature’s truest noblemen, and with only birds and Shags for playmates? He will better understand your poem. Address your next letter to Cairo, care of the American Consul.” For a long time Muriel sat curled up in that deep cushioned chair gazing into the fire and dreaming dreams. How strange, how unreal, that she, the daughter of a long line of seafaring people, should be the friend of a lad who was the chosen comrade of a viscount, and yet Gene had spoken truly, no man could be more noble than her own grandfather. Then came a tap on the closed door and the pleasant voice of Miss Gordon: “Nine o’clock, dear. You know our resolution—to retire at that hour.” Instantly Muriel was on her feet, rebuking herself for having left Miss Gordon alone. Opening the door, she said: “Won’t you come in? It won’t matter, will it, if we stay up a little later this evening? I would like you to read this wonderful letter from Gene Beavers.” And so it was that Miss Gordon was ensconced in the big comfortable chair and with Muriel on a stool at her feet, the older woman read the letter aloud. “What a privilege it is for your friend Gene to have the companionship of that prince among men. I have often greatly admired the verses of Wayne Waters, and, dear——” The older woman paused and looked thoughtfully into the fire. As she had hesitated, Muriel glanced up questioningly. “I had thought that I would not tell you,” Miss Gordon continued, “but now I believe that I will. Before we left High Cliffs, Miss Humphrey found a poem in a new magazine, the title of which was ‘The Moor in Winter.’” “Oh, Miss Gordon, then you have found out about Marianne and——” “You knew all the time, Muriel, and did not tell me?” The girl bowed her head. “Yes. Gene had written telling me about that poem.” Suddenly looking up, she inquired: “Is that why Marianne is leaving High Cliffs?” “Yes,” was the reply. “Miss Humphrey is acting principal during my absence and she has expelled the young plagiarist.” |
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