That was about a year ago. I wrote to tell my father of her
death, and received a pitiful letter; indeed, I have had several of
them. He implored me to come out to him and not to leave him to die in
his loneliness, as he soon would do of a broken heart, if I did not. He
said that he had long ago given up drinking, which was the cause of the
ruin of his life, and sent a certificate signed by a magistrate and a
doctor to that effect. Well, in the end, although all my cousins and
their mother advised me against it, I consented, and here I am. He is to
meet me at Durban, but how we shall get on together is more than I can
say, though I long to see him, for after all he is my father."
"It was good of you to come, under all the circumstances. You must have
a brave heart," said Robert reflectively.
"It is my duty," she answered. "And for the rest, I am not afraid who
was born to Africa. Indeed, often and often have I wished to be back
there again, out on the veld, far away from the London streets and fog.
I am young and strong, and I want to see things, natural things--not
those made by man, you know--the things I remember as a child. One can
always go back to London."
"Yes, or at least some people can. It is a curious thing, Miss Clifford,
but as it happens I have met your father.
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