But I know I won't. I'll likely
sleep later than ever tomorrow morning. But I wish I could."
"The Awkward Man and Miss Reade are going to have a lovely day for
their wedding," I said.
"Yes, and I'm so glad. Beautiful Alice deserves everything good.
Why, Bev--why, Bev! Who is that in the hammock?"
I looked. The hammock was swung under the two end trees of the
Walk. In it a man was lying, asleep, his head pillowed on his
overcoat. He was sleeping easily, lightly, and wholesomely. He
had a pointed brown beard and thick wavy brown hair. His cheeks
were a dusky red and the lashes of his closed eyes were as long
and dark and silken as a girl's. He wore a light gray suit, and
on the slender white hand that hung down over the hammock's edge
was a spark of diamond fire.
It seemed to me that I knew his face, although assuredly I had
never seen him before. While I groped among vague speculations
the Story Girl gave a queer, choked little cry. The next moment
she had sprung over the intervening space, dropped on her knees by
the hammock, and flung her arms about the man's neck.
"Father! Father!" she cried, while I stood, rooted to the ground
in my amazement.
The sleeper stirred and opened two large, exceedingly brilliant
hazel eyes.
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