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?”