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!”