“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.