"I will ask mamma to invite her to the drawing-room some evening," said Nell. "Mother does not like her to come often, for fear of spoiling her. Phyllis has an idea that Hetty needs a great deal of keeping down; but I think it is only because Phyllis is so good herself that she thinks so badly of Hetty."
Reine laughed, and a look of fun remained in her eyes a few moments after this naäve speech of Nell's. The peculiarities of Phyllis's style of goodness had not escaped Miss Gaythorne's quick intelligence.
"And mother minds what Phyllis thinks a great deal more than she minds me; because Phyllis is so wise, and never gives her any trouble."
The next morning at breakfast Reine said:
"Do you know, Mr. Enderby, little Miss Gray has made me such a beautiful drawing. She has a great talent. I can't help wishing you would let her be an artist."
"Has she been enlisting you against me?" said Mr. Enderby, with half a smile and half a frown.
"I have never even seen her," said Reine; "but I am greatly struck with her work."
"It is clever," assented the master of Wavertree; "but pray do not arouse foolish ideas in the child's head—ideas which have been fortunately laid to rest. I have great faith in the old warning, 'Beware of the man of one book'; and I think Hetty will do better to stick to what she has begun with. Under Miss Davis she has excellent opportunities of becoming fitted to be a governess, which, after all, is the safest career for a friendless woman. She lives in a respectable home and is saved from many dangers. I do not hold with the new-fangled notion of letting girls run about the world picking up professions."
And then Mr. Enderby deliberately changed the conversation.
However, Reine could not forget the little artist; and that evening, being dressed for dinner rather early, she suddenly bethought her of making her way uninvited to the school-room.
"I really must see her and thank her," she reflected; "and I will ask pardon of Mrs. Enderby afterwards for the liberty." And then she set out to look for the school-room.
It happened that Hetty was sitting all alone at the school-room table; her chin in her hand, her eyes fixed on the pages of a book. A window behind her, framing golden sky and deep-coloured foliage, made her the foreground figure of a striking picture. Her dark head and flowing hair, her pale but richly-tinted face with its thoughtful brow and intelligent mouth, her little warm brown hand and wrist were all softly and distinctly defined against the glories of the distance. As Reine opened the door and came in, Hetty looked up as much startled as if an angel had come to visit her.
Reine was dressed all in white shimmering silk, which enhanced the beauty of her bright brunette face. Her soft luminous eyes beamed on Hetty as she advanced to her with outstretched hands.
"I came to see you and thank you," she began; "I am Reine Gaythorne and—"
Suddenly, as Hetty sprang to her feet and came forward smiling and facing the light, Reine's little speech died on her tongue, and a sharp cry broke from her.
"My mother!" she exclaimed in a tone of deep feeling, and stood gazing at Hetty as if a ghost had risen up before her.
Hetty retreated a step, and the two girls stood gazing at each other. Miss Gaythorne recovered herself quickly, but her hands and voice were trembling as she took Hetty's fingers in her own.
"Have I frightened you, dear?" she said; "but oh, if you knew how strangely, how wonderfully like you are to my darling mother."
"Your mother?" stammered Hetty.
"Such a sweet beauty of a young mother she was as I remember her—and I have a likeness of her at your age;—it seems to me that you are the living image of it."
"How very strange!" said Hetty, with a thrill of delight at the thought that she was like anybody belonging to this charming girl, especially her mother. Hetty had fascinating fancies of her own about an ideal mother; no real mother she had known had ever reached her standard. But Reine's mother must surely have been up to the mark. And to be told that she, Hetty, was like her! She drew nearer to Reine, who put her arms round her neck and kissed her.
"I can't tell you how I feel," said Reine, holding her off and looking at her. "I feel as if you belonged to me someway."
"Don't turn my head," pleaded Hetty wistfully. "Please remember I have no relations and must not expect to be loved. I have had great trouble about that; and it has been very hard for them to manage me."
"Has it?" said Reine doubtfully.
"As I'm now nearly grown up," said Hetty, "of course I have had to learn to behave myself; so don't spoil me."
"I wish I could," said Reine. "I mean I wish I could get the chance. Oh, don't look at me like that. But yes, do. Oh, Hetty, my mother, my mother!"
And Reine leaned her arms on the table, and laid her head on them, and wept.
Hetty stood by wondering, and stroked her head timidly for sympathy.
"Don't think me a great goose," said Reine, looking up. And then suddenly silent again she sat staring at Hetty. After a few moments she sprang up and folded her arms round her and held her close.
"You strange darling, where have you come from; and how am I ever to let you go again?"
A step was heard at the door, and Reine and Hetty instinctively withdrew from each other's embrace. There was something sacred about the feeling which had so suddenly and unexpectedly overpowered them both.
Nell came in.
"Reine, I have been looking for you everywhere."
"I came here to thank Miss Gray for her design," said Reine, "and I don't think I have even mentioned it yet."
"You are as pale as death," said Nell. "What has Hetty been saying to you?"
"Nothing," said Reine absently, her eyes going back to Hetty's face and fixing themselves there.
"How you stare at each other!" said Nell, "and I declare your two faces are almost the same this moment."
"Nell!"
"I always said you were like each other, though Phyllis could not see it. Now I am sure of it."
A wild look came into Reine's face.
"That would be too strange," she said; "for she is so like—so like—some one—Oh, Nell, she is the very image of my mother!"
"Your mother!" echoed Nell, gazing at Hetty and thinking she did not look like anybody's mother, with her short frock and flowing hair.
"But there is the dinner-bell!" she cried, glad of the interruption; for Nell had a great dislike of anything like a sentimental scene. "You must talk about all this afterwards, for we must not be late."
"I will come," said Reine, passing her handkerchief over her face. "Do I look as if I had been crying."
"Your nose is a little red," said Nell; "but they will think it is the cold."
"Then don't say anything about this," said Reine; "but I must come and see Hetty again. Goodnight, darling little mother!"
"Reine, all my respect for you is gone," said Nell as they hastened toward the dining-room. "I thought you were as wise as Phyllis. And to think of you crying and kissing like that because Hetty reminds you of—"
"Don't, Nell," said Reine. "I can't bear any more just now."
CHAPTER XIX.
IF SHE WAS DROWNED, HOW CAN SHE BE HETTY?
A few friends had joined the Wavertree family circle that evening, and Reine had no further opportunity of speaking about Hetty. She was absent and thoughtful; but wakened up when asked to sing, and sang a thrilling little love song with such power and sweetness as went to everybody's heart. She was thinking as she sang of Hetty's face, and it was her strange yearning for Hetty's love that inspired her to sing as she did.
That night she could not sleep. Her mother's eyes, with the loving look she remembered so well, were gazing at her from all the corners of the room. Her mind went back over the recollections of her childhood; and her father's voice and her mother's smiles were with her as though she had only said good-night to both parents an hour ago. The lonely girl, who had everything that the world could offer her, except that which she longed for most, the affection of family and kindred, felt the very depths of her heart shaken by the experience of the past evening. That a girl who seemed so much a part of herself should have risen up beside her, and yet be nothing to her, seemed something too curious to be understood. Her imagination went to work upon the possibilities of Mr. Enderby's being induced to give Hetty up to her altogether, to be her adopted sister and to live with her for evermore. She was aware that people would distrust this sudden fancy for a stranger, and that opposition would probably be offered to her plan; but then she was not her own mistress; and by perseverance she must surely succeed in the end.
Oh, the delight of having a sister! Reine had had a sister, a baby sister lost in infancy, and had often taken a sad pleasure in fancying what that sister might have been like if she had lived. She had been six years younger than Reine. Hetty was fifteen, about the age that the little sister might now have been. Reine sat up in her bed and counted the years between fifteen and twenty-one twice over on her fingers to make perfectly sure. Hetty was the very age of the little sister. And so like her mother! If the baby sister of whom she had been bereft could be still alive, then Reine would have declared she must be Hetty.
She was now in a fever of excitement. Her curly brown hair had risen in a mop of rings and ringlets around her head with tossing on her pillow, her eyes were round and bright, and a burning spot was on each of her cheeks. At last she sprang out of bed and in a minute was at Nell's bed-room door.
Nell was awakened out of a sound sleep by the opening of her door.
"Don't be frightened, Nell; I'm not a burglar—only Reine."
"What's the matter?" said Nell, rubbing her eyes. "Have you got the toothache?"
"I never had toothache. I want to know something."
"I often want to know things," said Nell, now sitting bolt upright in her little bed; "I'm sometimes dying of curiosity. But it never routed me out of my sleep in the middle of the night."
"It's about Hetty," said Reine, sitting on the floor in a faint streak of moonlight, and looking like a spirit—if spirits have curly hair.
"You've gone Hetty-mad!" said Nell; "wouldn't Hetty keep till morning? We're not going to transport her or lock her up. You will have all next week to sit looking at her."
"Where did you get her?" asked Reine. "I know she is a foundling; but she must have had a beginning somewhere."
"Of course she had; and a most peculiar one. She was found on the Long Sands. That is a place three miles from Wavertree on the sea-shore, where wrecks often come in. John Kane, one of the carters, found her, and Mrs. Kane took her home. Then Aunt Amy, who is dead, fancied her and adopted her. When Aunt Amy died she was left unprovided for, and papa brought her here; and here she is."
"Found on the shore where wrecks come in! And she is just fifteen. Oh, Nell, are you sure you are telling the truth?"
There was a sound in Reine's voice that startled Nell.
"The plain truth. Every village child knows it. What has it got to do with you?"
"I don't know. I don't know. I am afraid to think. Why, Nell, listen to me. When I was a child of seven years old, my mother and father took me to France. They had inherited a property there and were going to take possession of it. They were fond of the sea, and they long travelled by sea. While still near this coast the vessel was overtaken by storm and wrecked. My father, mother, and myself were saved. But my little baby sister was washed out of my mother's arms and drowned."
"Well?"
"Well!"
"If she was drowned how can she be Hetty, if that is what you mean?"
"They thought she was drowned. We were taken into another vessel and carried on to France."
"And never asked any more questions about the baby?"
"I don't know. My father and mother are both dead," said Reine pathetically; "I am sure they did all they could. But I know they thought they saw her drowned before their eyes."
"And I suppose they did. Reine, stop walking about the floor like Crazy Jane, in your bare feet, and either come into my bed or go back to your own."
"I am going," said Reine; "please forgive me, Nell, for spoiling your sleep."
"Don't mention it. We can talk all the rest in the morning. If you are allowed to go on any more now, you will be mad to-morrow, and, what is worse, you will have a cold in your head."
Nell curled herself up in her pillows again, and was soon fast asleep. But Reine could not sleep; and came down to breakfast next morning looking as pale as a ghost.
After Mr. Enderby had gone to his study Nell began:
"Mamma, do you know Reine has got a bee in her bonnet!"
"My dear, where did you get such an expression?"
"Never mind. It is quite accurate. She believes that Hetty is her sister who was drowned when she was a baby."
Mrs. Enderby looked at Reine with a face of extreme surprise.
"Nell talks so much nonsense," she said, "that I scarcely know what to think of her speeches sometimes." And then seeing Reine's eyes full of tears, she added kindly:
"Dear child, is there any grain of truth in what this wild little scatter-brain has said?"
Reine burst into tears.
"Don't mind me, Mrs. Enderby, please; I have been awake all night, and I don't feel like myself. It is only that Hetty Gray is so—so distressingly like my mother. And Nell says she was found on the sea-shore after a storm and wrecks. And it is fourteen years ago. And that is the very time when our vessel was wrecked, and my father and mother believed that our baby was drowned. Oh, Mrs. Enderby, only think! Is it not enough to turn my head?"
"It is a very remarkable coincidence at least," said Mrs. Enderby; "but, dear Reine, try to compose your thoughts. You must not jump too hastily at conclusions. At the end of fourteen years it will be very difficult to find evidence to prove or disprove what you imagine may be true."
Reine shook her head. "I have thought of that; I have thought of it all night."
"In the first place, are you quite sure about the dates?"
"Quite, on my own side. I have a little New Testament in which my father wrote down, the day after our rescue, the date of the wreck and a record of the baby's death."
"We must send for Mrs. Kane," said Mrs. Enderby; "and hear what she has to say before we allow our imaginations to run away with us."
"And oh, Mrs. Enderby,—if you saw the likeness of my mother at just Hetty's age! May I telegraph for it at once—to let you see it?"
"Certainly, my dear; for it and that copy of the Testament. But not a word to Hetty. It would be cruel to run the risk of subjecting her to a heavy disappointment"
The telegram was sent; and Mrs. Kane appeared, wondering greatly why she was wanted at the Hall in such a hurry.
"Now, Mrs. Kane," said Mrs. Enderby, "here is a young lady who is greatly interested in the story of the finding of Hetty Gray on the Long Sands by your husband, and I have promised she shall hear of it from your own lips."
They were all gathered round a sunny window in the great brown hall, lined with carved oak and decorated with armour and antlers. Mrs. Enderby herself pushed a stately old oaken chair towards the rose-framed sash and said encouragingly:
"Sit down, Mrs. Kane, and make yourself comfortable. There is nothing to be nervous about. You know we are all friends of your favourite, Hetty."
Mrs. Kane was trembling with some curious excitement, and could not remove her eyes from Reine Gaythorne's face.
"I do not know who the young lady may be, ma'am," she said, "but this I will say, that she is as like my Hetty as if she was her own born sister."
A flood of colour rushed over Reine's pale face, and she clasped her hands and fixed her eyes on Mrs. Enderby.
"Never mind that," said Mrs. Enderby, "tell the young lady what you remember."
"There's but little to tell," said Mrs. Kane, "beyond what everybody knows. John happened to be down upon the sands that night, and he got the baby lying at his feet. He brought her to me wrapped in his coat, and says he, 'Anne, here's God has sent us a little one.' And we kept it for our own, seeing that nobody asked for it. I have the day and the year written in my prayer-book; for I said to myself, some day, may-be, her friends will come looking for her—out of the sea, or over the land, or whatever way providence will send them. And for one whole week we called her nothing but 'H.G.'"
"H.G.!" echoed Reine.
"Those were the letters wrought upon the shoulder of her beautiful little shift," said Mrs. Kane. "And afterwards we made out that they stood for Hetty Gray."
"She had on a little shift?"
"Mrs. Rushton got it," said Mrs. Kane. "The finest bit of baby clothes I ever set my eyes on."
Reine had come close to Mrs. Kane, and her lips were trembling as she went on questioning her:
"Were the letters in white embroidery—satin stitch they call it? Were they all formed of little flowers curling in and out about the letters; and was the chemise of fine cambric with a narrow hem?"
"That's the description as plain as if you were looking at it," said Mrs. Kane.
"I have half a dozen like it at home in one of my mother's drawers," said Reine turning red and pale. "Where is this little garment? is it not to be found?"
"I have it, dear," said Mrs. Enderby quietly. "After Mrs. Rushton's death I took possession of it. I hardly anticipated so happy a day as this for poor Hetty, but I thought it my duty to take care of it."
The little chemise was produced, and Reine identified it as one of the set belonging to her baby sister supposed to have been drowned, and marked with her initials standing for Helen Gaythorne.
"My mother marked them herself," said Reine, examining the embroidery as well as she could through eyes blinded by tears. "She was wonderfully skilful with her needle, and took a pride in marking all our things with initials designed by herself. Oh, Mrs. Enderby, is not this evidence enough?"
"It seems to me so," said Mrs. Enderby, "especially taken with the dates and the likeness to your family. When your mother's portrait comes——"
"I must send for the little baby-garments too," said Reine; "but oh, why need we wait for anything more? May I not run to my sister, Mrs. Enderby?"
"Calm yourself, my dear Reine, and be persuaded to take my advice. We must consult a lawyer and get information as to the wrecking of the vessel, and the place where the shipwreck occurred. It will then be seen whether it was possible for a child lost on the occasion to have lived to be washed in upon this shore."
"Possible or not, it happened!" cried Reine. "Oh, Mrs. Enderby, unless you can make me sleep through the interval I shall never have patience to wait."
The portrait of Reine's mother taken at fifteen years of age and the packet of tiny embroidered chemises arrived the next morning from London. The former looked exactly like a picture of Hetty; the latter was the counterpart of the baby-garment produced by Mrs. Enderby from a drawer of her own. Mr. Enderby was then consulted, and admitted that the case seemed established in Hetty's favour. However, prudent like his wife, he insisted that nothing should be said to Hetty till lawyers had been consulted, and information about the wreck of the vessel obtained.
In the meantime Reine was abruptly sent home to London.
"She will make herself ill if she is allowed to stay in the house with Hetty, and obliged to be silent towards her as to her discovery," said Mr. Enderby. "When the chain of evidence is complete, we can think of what to do."
So Mr. Enderby himself carried off Reine to London that very night.
"It will be necessary to come, my dear," he said, "and make inquiries at once. You will thus arrive more quickly at your end. Now just run into the school-room for a minute and say good-bye to Hetty. But if you love her, say nothing to disturb the child's peace."
It cost Reine a great struggle to obey these sudden orders; but she saw their drift, and was wise enough not to oppose them. In her travelling dress she appeared in the school-room, where Hetty, all unconscious of the wonderful change for her that was hanging in the balance of Fate, sat at work as usual with Miss Davis.
"I have come to say good-bye," said Reine; "I am called off to London in a hurry. But you must not forget me. We shall surely meet again."
Hetty's heart sank with bitter disappointment She had been living in a sort of dream since yesterday, a dream of happiness at being so suddenly and unexpectedly loved by this sweet girl who had risen up like an angel in her path. The hope of seeing her again and enjoying her friendship had kept a glow of joy within her, which now went out and left darkness in its place. She strove to keep her face from showing how deeply she felt what seemed like caprice in Reine.
Reine looked in her face with that long strange gaze which had so impressed Hetty's heart and imagination, smothered a sob, snatched a kiss from her sister's quivering lips, held her a moment in a close embrace, and then turned abruptly and was gone.
"Miss Gaythorne seems a rather impulsive young lady," said Miss Davis disapprovingly. "I wish she had taken a fancy to some one else than my pupil. You must try to forget her, Hetty. Girls like her, with wealth and power and nobody to control them, are apt to become capricious, and work mischief with people who have business to attend to. I hope you understand me, Hetty."
"Yes," said Hetty with a long sigh.
"You must not expect to see Miss Gaythorne again. She will probably have forgotten you to-morrow."
Miss Davis was not in the secret which was occupying the minds of several of the inmates of Wavertree Hall.
CHAPTER XX.
HAPPY HETTY.
About three weeks had passed away. Hetty had endured the worst throes of her disappointment, and had almost succeeded in banishing Reine out of her thoughts. She had steadily turned away her eyes from looking back at that beautiful evening, when, as if by enchantment, a girl who looked and spoke like a sister had held her in a loving embrace, lavishing kisses and loving words upon her, Hetty, who was known to be nobody's child. The quiet studious days went on as if no brilliant interruption had ever flashed in upon them. Miss Davis, at Mrs. Enderby's desire, kept Hetty more than ordinarily busy, and hindered her from paying her customary visits to Mrs. Kane. Mrs. Enderby distrusted the good woman's ability to keep a secret, and, with that prudence which had always distinguished her in her dealings with Hetty, she was resolved that the girl should hear no whisper to disturb her tranquillity till such time as her identity should be considered satisfactorily proved.
At the end of three weeks' time, however, news came from London to Mr. Enderby which placed it beyond a doubt that Hetty was Helen Gaythorne, the baby who had been supposed to be drowned. Although Mrs. Enderby and her daughters had been prepared for this result of the inquiries that had been on foot, yet the established fact, with its tremendous importance for Hetty, seemed to come on them with a shock. The child who had been protected in their house, no longer needed their protection. The girl who was to have been sent out soon as a governess to earn her bread, would henceforth have pleasant bread to eat in a sister's luxurious home. The dependant, whom it had been thought judicious to snub, was now the equal of those who had so prudently dealt with her according to their lights.
Mr. and Mrs. Enderby were extremely pleased at the child's good fortune, and thankful that they had not been induced to send her to a charity school.
"You are always right, dear," said Mrs. Enderby, looking at her husband with pride. "When I was a coward in the matter you insisted on having her here. And if she had gone elsewhere she would never have met Reine, and her identity could hardly have been discovered."
"And her sister may thank you that she does not receive her a spoiled, passionate, unmanageable monkey. Your prudent treatment of the girl has had admirable results. Her demeanour has pleased me very much of late. Meekness and obedience have taken the place of her wilfulness and pride."
Nell was perfectly wild with excitement and delight, clapped her hands over her head and danced about the room.
"I was always the one who liked Hetty the best," she said triumphantly, "and now she will remember it. She will ask me to France to stay with her. And nobody can warn me any more not to give her too much encouragement. I can be allowed to make a companion of Miss Helen Gaythorne."
"What a very unpleasant way you always have of twisting things!" said Phyllis, who had been remarkably silent all along as to the change in Hetty's circumstances. "I am as glad as anyone of Hetty's discovery; but I do not see why it should make any difference to us."
"Phyllis takes a more disinterested view of the matter than you do, Nell," said Mrs. Enderby smiling; "but then my Phyllis was always a wise little girl."
Nell pouted, and Phyllis held her head high. Mrs. Enderby thought she knew the hearts of both. But the woman who could be so exceedingly prudent in the management of "nobody's child" was blind to a great deal that required skilful treatment in the characters and dispositions of her own daughters.
Miss Davis was more affected than anyone in the house by the news of Hetty's extraordinary good fortune. Unconsciously to herself she had learned to love the girl, whom she had counted upon having by her side for many years to come, and it was not without a pang that she saw the young figure disappear suddenly out of her future. Hetty alone knew nothing of the change that had befallen her.
"No, my dear," said Mrs. Enderby to Nell, "I will not allow you to tell her. Indeed, I am a little nervous about the matter, for Hetty is such a strangely impressionable girl one never knows what way she will take things. I must break the truth to her myself."
So Hetty was sent for to Mrs. Enderby's dressing-room, and went with rather a heavy heart, thinking some complaint had been made of her. She had never been so sent for except when trouble was impending.
"I must try to be patient," she was thinking as she went up the stairs. "I do not know what I can have done so very wrong, but I suppose there must be something."
But her sadness was soon turned into amazement and joy.
"Hetty," said Mrs. Enderby, "Miss Gaythorne wishes to have you with her in London, on a visit. Mr. Enderby and I have consented to allow you to go; and I suppose you will not object to give her pleasure."
"Miss Gaythorne!" exclaimed Hetty, scarcely believing she had heard rightly.
"She has taken a fancy to you, and wishes to have you with her. She is a charming girl, and I am sure she will make you happy."
Hetty's face, glowing with delight, sufficiently answered this last speech; but her tongue could find no words.
"In fact, I may as well tell you," continued Mrs. Enderby, "that Reine has discovered you are some kind of relation of hers; and, as she is her own mistress and very independent, she will be disposed to make the most of the relationship."
Hetty was turning slowly pale. "Relationship!" she murmured. "Am I really related to Miss Gaythorne?" and Reine's cry, "My mother, oh, my mother!" seemed to ring again in her ears.
"I believe so, my dear. There, do not think too much of it. At all events, you are to go to her now, and she will tell you all about it. But mind, you and she are to come back and spend Christmas with us. Mark will be at home then, and he will be anxious to see his old playfellow."
"Christmas!" echoed Hetty, in new astonishment. This was only the end of September.
"You see, I fancy Reine will not let you go in a hurry once she has got you," said Mrs. Enderby; "and now, my dear, don't stand there in a dream any longer, but run away and get ready for the mid-day train. Mr. Enderby has to do some business in London, and he will leave you in Portland Place. No, you will not have time to go to see Mrs. Kane. I will give her your love, and tell her you will see her when you come back."
"I am not going to have her told till she is in her sister's house," reflected Mrs. Enderby; "and Mrs. Kane would be sure to pour out everything suddenly. The child is of so excitable a nature, I do not know what might be the consequences to her."
That she could not say good-bye to Mrs. Kane made the only flaw in Hetty's happiness; but she left a little note for her with Miss Davis, who promised to have it safely delivered. And then, with smiles and good wishes from everyone, and pondering over a few mysterious glances which she caught passing from one person to another over her head, Hetty took her place by Mr. Enderby in his trap, and was whirled away to the railway-station.
Mr. Enderby talked to her kindly as they went along, about the pleasures in store for her in London, especially in the picture-galleries, as she had a taste for art.
"And always remember, my dear," he said, "that in the rules I laid down for your education with a view to your future, I acted as I thought best for your good."
Hetty said warmly, "I know—I am sure of that"; and then she began to wonder at his curious manner of speaking, as if all his dealings with her were in the past, and he had no longer any control over her. Could it be, she asked herself, that Reine was going to take her and have her taught to be an artist?
The thought was too delightful to be borne with, considering the likelihood of disappointment. She tried to put it out of her head, and listened to Mr. Enderby as he talked to her of Westminster Abbey and the Tower.
That afternoon about five o'clock, in a certain handsome drawing-room in Portland Place, Reine was flitting about restlessly with flushed cheeks, now re-arranging the roses in some jar, now picking up her embroidery and putting a few stitches in it, then going to the window and looking out. The afternoon tea equipage was on a little table beside her, but she did not help herself to a cup. She was evidently waiting for some one.
At last there was a sound of wheels stopping, and Reine's trembling hands dropped her work into her basket. A ring came to the door, and Reine was in the middle of the room, pressing her hands together, and listening to the closing of the door with impatient delight.
"Miss Helen Gaythorne!" announced the servant, who knew that his mistress's young sister was expected, and who had not asked Hetty for her name. In the excitement of the moment Hetty heard, but hardly understood the announcement. She thought the servant had made a curious blunder.
"Mr. Enderby will come in the evening," began Hetty advancing shyly, and then, as the servant disappeared, she raised her eyes and saw Reine.
"Hetty—Helen! my darling! my sister!" cried Reine, snatching her into her arms and laughing and crying on her shoulder.
"Sister?" murmured Hetty breathlessly, feeling quite stunned. "Oh, Miss Gaythorne, what are you saying?"
"Do you mean that they have not told you?" cried Reine, covering her face with kisses.
"Some kind of a relation," murmured Hetty, "that was what they told me. Oh, Miss Gaythorne, think of what you have said! Do not make fun of me, I cannot bear it."
"Fun of you! Why, Hetty, Helen! I tell you, you are my sister. My ownest, dearest, darlingest daughter of my mother—the mother you are so like!"
"But how—how can it be?" asked Hetty with a look almost of terror on her face.
"You are our baby who was supposed to have been drowned," said Reine. "That's how it comes to be. We were wrecked going to France, and you were washed out of my mother's arms. And we thought you were drowned. But God was keeping you safe for me at Wavertree."
"How have you found it all out?" said Hetty, still holding fast by her doubt, which seemed the only plank that could save her from destruction in case this enchanting story should prove to be all a dream.
"It is completely proved, you little sceptic!" cried Reine. "Mr. Enderby would not have you told till the lawyers had pronounced you to be Helen Gaythorne. So ask me no more questions at present, but give me back some of my kisses. You and I are never going to part any more; are we?"
Hetty gave her a long, strange, troubled look, and then suddenly broke out into wild weeping.
"Oh, is it true? Is it really true? Oh, Reine, my sister; if, after this, it comes to be false—I shall die!"
"It cannot come to be false, because it is reality," insisted Reine, as she rocked her weeping sister in her arms. "I shall be mother and sister and all to you, Helen—my poor little motherless darling! Cry away, my dearest, for this once, and then you shall have some tea. And after that you are never to cry any more. You and I will have a great deal too much to say and do together to spend our time over crying. But oh, Hetty—Helen—if mother and father were only here this day!"
And then Reine cried again herself, and Hetty was the comforter. They sat with their young heads together and their warm cheeks touching, and told as much of their life's stories to each other as they could think of at the moment. To Reine the great discovery had come gradually, and so the present hour was not so strange as it was to Hetty. For Hetty the world seemed to have got suddenly under a spell of enchantment. She could not believe in herself as Helen Gaythorne—could not get accustomed to her new vision of life.
"And I shall not need to be a governess. And perhaps I may be an artist if I like."
"You will not need to be either. There is enough of wealth for both of us," said Reine. "But you can study art to your heart's content. And we will go to Italy. And you shall be as happy as a queen."
And here I think we may take leave of Hetty Gray, in the fulness of her happiness, and in Reine's loving arms. When I last heard of the sisters they were leading a busy, active, and joyous life. John Kane having died, Mrs. Kane has found a home with them; and Scamp, who is now quite an old dog, spends his days in tranquil ease at Hetty's feet.