A Bookful of Girls. Fuller Anna

Чтение книги онлайн.

      “You have been outrageously treated, Miss Blythe,” he declared, seating himself beside her, “but I had to let the old fellow have his head.”

      “Oh, don’t tell me anything, till we find Mamma,” Blythe cried. “It’s all her doing, you know, – letting me have Cecilia up here,” and, gently rousing the sleeper, she said, “Come, Cecilia. We are going to find the Signora.”

      “And you consider it absolutely certain?” Mrs. Halliday asked, when Mr. Grey had finished his tale. She was far more surprised than Blythe, for she had had a longer experience of life, to teach her a distrust in fairy-stories.

      “There does not seem a doubt. The child’s familiarity with the crest was striking enough, but that Bellini Madonna clinches it. And then, Giuditta’s description of both father and mother seems to be unmistakable.”

      “Oh! To think of his finding the child that he had never heard of, just as he had given up the search for her mother!” Blythe exclaimed.

      Cecilia was again playing happily with the glasses, paying no heed to her companions.

      “The strangest thing of all to me,” Mrs. Halliday declared, “is his relenting toward his daughter after all these years.”

      “You must not forget that Fate had been pounding him pretty hard,” Mr. Grey interposed. “When a man loses in one year two of his children, and the only grandchild he knows anything about, it’s not surprising that he should soften a bit toward the only child he has left.”

      They were still discussing this wonderful subject, when, half an hour later, the tall figure of the Count emerged from the companionway. As he bent his steps toward the other side of the deck he was visible only to the child, who stood facing the rest of the group. She promptly dropped the glasses upon Blythe’s knee, and crying, “Il Signore!” ran and took hold of his hand; whereupon the two walked away together and were not seen for a long, long time.

      Then Blythe and Mr. Grey went up on the bridge and told the Captain. No one else was to know – not even Mr. DeWitt – until after they had landed, but the Captain was certainly entitled to their confidence.

      “For,” Blythe said, “you know, Captain Seemann, it never would have happened if you had not sent us up in the crow’s nest that day.”

      Upon which the Captain, beaming his brightest, and letting his cigar go out in the damp breeze for the sake of making his little speech, declared:

      “I know one thing! It would neffer haf happen at all, if I had sent anybody else up in the crow’s nest but just Miss Blythe Halliday with her bright eyes and her kind heart!”

      And Blythe was so overpowered by this tremendous compliment from the Captain of the Lorelei that she had not a word to say for herself.

      That evening Mr. Grey inscribed his nonsense-verse in Blythe’s book; and not that only, for to those classic lines he added the following:

      “The above was composed in collaboration with his esteemed fellow-passenger, Miss Blythe Halliday, by Hugh Dalton, alias ‘Mr. Grey.’”

      It was, of course, a great distinction to own such an autograph as that; yet somehow the kind, witty Mr. Grey had been so delightful just as he was, that Blythe hardly felt as if the famous name added so very much to her satisfaction in his acquaintance.

      “I knew it all the time,” she declared, quietly; “but it didn’t make any difference.”

      “That’s worth hearing,” said Hugh Dalton.

      They parted from the little Cecilia at sunrise, but with promises on both sides of a speedy meeting among the hills of Tuscany.

      The old Count, with the child’s hand clasped in his, paused as he reached the gangway, at the foot of which the triumphant Giuditta was awaiting them, and pointed toward the rosy east which was flushing the beautiful bay a deep crimson.