The final name on the list of wedding guests was the name of
David Spencer. David Spencer lived alone in a little cottage
down at the Cove. He was a combination of sailor and fisherman.
He was also Isabella Spencer's husband and Rachel's father.

"Rachel Spencer, have you taken leave of your senses? What do
you mean by such nonsense as this?"

"I simply mean that I am going to invite my father to my
wedding," answered Rachel quietly.

"Not in my house," cried Mrs. Spencer, her lips as white as if
her fiery tone had scathed them.

Rachel leaned forward, folded her large, capable hands
deliberately on the table, and gazed unflinchingly into her
mother's bitter face. Her fright and nervousness were gone. Now
that the conflict was actually on she found herself rather
enjoying it. She wondered a little at herself, and thought that
she must be wicked. She was not given to self-analysis, or she
might have concluded that it was the sudden assertion of her own
personality, so long dominated by her mother's, which she was
finding so agreeable.

"Then there will be no wedding, mother," she said. "Frank and I
will simply go to the manse, be married, and go home. If I
cannot invite my father to see me married, no one else shall be
invited."