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Updated: May 31, 2025
Down the narrow stair and into the room came a man in a black velvet jacket; a tall man, with bright, dark eyes and a grave face. He held a candle in his hand; he set it down, and turned to the two disconcerted Spaniards. "My nephew," said Mr. Montfort, "I am glad to welcome you and your friend to Fernley House. I am your Uncle John!" Margaret was not conscious of any surprise.
Margaret felt helpless for a moment. Locked in, her cousin asleep here, exhausted if not ill, and needing absolute quiet, and going on downstairs what? She must know! She must call John Strong, and warn him that her fears were realised, and that unwelcome visitors were already at the doors of Fernley, perhaps already within. But how was it possible? She ran to the window and looked down.
What had Peggy been doing? She had sauntered out rather disconsolately, on Margaret's refusing to accompany her. She was so used to being one of a large, shouting, struggling family, that she felt, perhaps more than any of the three girls, the retirement and quiet of Fernley. She wanted to run and scream and make a noise, but there was no fun in doing it alone. If Jean were only here!
The days that followed were merry ones at Fernley House. Mr. Montfort insisted on treating both the young Cubans as his nephews, and found them, as he said, very pleasant lads. Carlos had something of Rita's fire, but with it a good share of common sense that kept him from folly. Fernando was a mild and gentle youth, with nothing passionate about him save his moustache, which curled with ferocity.
But why have you called it Fernley Manor, Cumberland, instead of Wildfell Hall, —shire?’ I asked, alluding to the name she had traced in small characters at the bottom of the canvas. But immediately I was sensible of having committed an act of impertinence in so doing; for she coloured and hesitated; but after a moment’s pause, with a kind of desperate frankness, she replied:—
The Allan Library, the gift of the late Thomas R. Allan, containing more than 30,000 books and dissertations, was opened by the President; it has since been enriched by gifts of modern books from the Fernley Trustees and others, and a circulating library is now connected with it.
She was happy, too, in her own way, but she found herself wondering, as she had wondered before, whether she were seventeen or thirty-seven, and there was no doubt in her mind that Uncle John was nearer her in age than any of the others. Her heart was full of quiet happiness, for this dear uncle had asked her if she would stay with him, would make her home here at Fernley with him and Aunt Faith.
When her father brought her home to Fernley, she took this, her wedding-gown, and cut it up in this strange fashion that you see, and laid it so in the chest; as a warning, she told her mother. She died very soon after her return; poor Aunt Penelope!"
They are beautiful, Margaret, the Java sparrows, the little love-birds, the splendid macaw, the paroquets, and mocking-birds; but king among them all is Chiquito, our parrot, Marguerite, yours and mine, the one link here that binds me to my Northern home; for I may call Fernley my home, Uncle John has said it; the lonely orphan can think of one spot where tender hearts beat for her, not passionately, but with steadfast pulses.
Write more often to your Rita, she implores you. I pine for news of you, of Uncle John, of all at dear, dear Fernley. Alas! how young I was there! a simple child, sporting among the Northern daisies. Now, in the whirlwind of my passionate existence, I look back to that peaceful summer.
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