Part 23

It was all he could say. His emotion prevented further utterance.

Impatient to see his daughter, the happy father, accompanied by M'Arthur, now hastened home; and the interview between parent and child, which instantly followed, was most affecting. Flora rushed into her father's arms, exclaiming--

"My dear father!"

She could say no more, and buried her head in his bosom.

"Thank God--thank God, my child, that I see you again safe!" fervently ejaculated her father, at the same time straining the beloved being of whom he spoke to his bosom.

After the lapse of a few minutes, and when the emotion of both had a little subsided, taking his daughter by the hand, Mr M'Donald led her towards her deliverer--who stood looking out of a window at the farther end of the apartment, that he might not seem to witness the expression of their feelings--and, on coming up to him, said, smiling as he spoke--

"Mr M'Arthur, I promised you the half of my fortune, if the intelligence you brought me of Flora's safety were true, and I did this without being aware that I was indebted to you for that inexpressible happiness; but now, knowing this, I must throw something into the bargain. What would you think, then, Mr M'Arthur, of my daughter here as a make-weight on this occasion?"

M'Arthur looked confused and incredulous.

"Nay, I'm in earnest, Mr M'Arthur," continued Mr M'Donald. "You have won her, and have the best right to wear her; and, to tell you both a truth, I've long thought, and not with much displeasure, that you were not indifferent to each other; and therefore I anticipate no very serious objections on this occasion on either side. What say you, Flora? Have you any objection to take Mr M'Arthur for your husband? Come now, be honest, be candid."

Flora looked to the ground, blushed, but made no reply.

"Answer me, Flora," said her father, "have you any objection to receive your deliverer as your husband?"

"I have always considered it one of my first duties to obey my father," replied Flora, in gentle accents.

"Enough, my dearest girl--enough," said her father, embracing her tenderly. "Now, Mr M'Arthur," he continued, smiling as he spoke, "will you have the goodness to state your objections to accepting the hand of my daughter?"

"I would, sir, very readily, if I had any," replied Mr M'Arthur, smiling in his turn, but almost entirely deprived of his presence of mind by the great and unexpected happiness and good fortune with which he found himself thus so suddenly blessed. "But--but----" and he stammered out something about felicity, eternal gratitude, choice of his heart; which Mr M'Donald, as he could not make out, though he perceived and appreciated the feeling from which his confusion proceeded, suddenly arrested by saying--

"That'll do, Mac--that'll do. You would make a speech if you could, but it's not necessary. I know all you would say. But, Flora," he continued, now in a bantering humour--"Mac tells me that he had rescued you before he knew who you was; thus plainly intimating that it was no partiality towards you in particular that induced him to do what he did. What do you think of that?"

"Why, papa, I think the more of him for it," said Flora, blushing as she spoke. "His gallantry was the more generous, the more disinterested. It was a deed of true knight-errantry--the rescuing of a distressed damsel, without regard to who or what she was. She was in jeopardy, and that was enough for him."

"Excellent, Flora--very ingenious defence!" exclaimed her father, laughing, and rubbing his hands with glee. "Commend me to a woman for ready apology, for prompt excuse, for defending what is indefensible."

We need not prolong the scene. In a fortnight afterwards, Miss Flora M'Donald was married to Duncan M'Arthur, Esq. of Rose Vale; and the latter became an equal partner in the concerns of his father-in-law, by which, in the course of a few years, he realised a handsome fortune, which was further increased on the death of his patron, who left him, for behoof of his wife and children, the whole of his immense wealth. Such is the story--and a true tale it is--of the little barelegged and bareheaded Highland boy whom we saw running wild on the banks of Loch Awe.

It is almost unnecessary to add--yet our story would be incomplete perhaps without it--that the parents of Mr M'Arthur participated in his prosperity, and that in precise proportion with its advancement. Indeed, to minister to the comforts of the authors of his being was one of his first cares, and one of the very first purposes to which he applied the means which his good fortune put in his power--a circumstance indicative of so amiable and beautiful a trait of character, as would alone lessen our wonder at the singular degree of prosperity that attended its possessor--leaving us, is it does, impressed with a conviction that no one who owned such an excellent disposition could be otherwise than successful in the world.

END OF VOL. VIII