reporter.  Now this pro tem fairy, who was anything but good, as the word goes, made some curious discoveries.  It seems that the good fairy had left the lost Princess in the care of one of a foreign race.  Having a wife and daughter of his own, he brought the Princess up as his niece, not knowing himself who she really was.  She became wise, respected, and beautiful in mind and form.  Fate, who governs all fairy stories, first brought the newspaper reporter into the presence of the lost Princess.  She was a mere girl then, and was selling lemonade at—­at twenty-five cents a glass.  She—­”

“Jack,” came in wondering tones, “for mercy’s sake, what are you telling me?”

“Phyllis, can you not look back, perhaps as in a dream, to an old inn, where soldiers and ministers in a hurry and confusion moved to and fro?  No; I dare say you were too young.  The Princess Hildegarde of Hohenphalia is your sister.”  I rose and bowed to her respectfully.

“My sister?—­the Princess?—­I, a Princess?  Jack,” indignantly, “you are mocking me!  It is not fair!”

“Phyllis, as sure as I stand before you, all I have said is true.  And now let me be the first to do homage to Your Serene Highness,” taking her hand despite her efforts to withdraw it, and kissing it.

“It is unreal!  Impossible!  Absurd!” she cried.

“Let me repeat the words of the French philosopher, who said, ’As nothing is impossible, let us believe in the absurd,’” said I.

“But why has Uncle Bob kept me in ignorance all these years?” unconvinced.

“Because, as I have said before, he knew nothing till to-day.  I have even spoken to the Chancellor, who has promised to aid in recovering your rights.”

“And does she know—­the Princess Hildegarde?  My sister?  How strange the word feels on my tongue.”

“No; she does not know, but presently she will.”

Then Phyllis asked in an altered tone, “And what is all this to you that you thrust this greatness upon me?—­a greatness, I assure you, for which I do not care?”

I regarded her vaguely.  I saw a precipice at my feet.  I could not tell her that in making her a Princess I was making Gretchen free.  I could not confess that my motive was purely a selfish one.

“It was a duty,” said I, evasively.

“And in what way will it concern the Princess Hildegarde’s affairs—­and yours?” She was rather merciless.

“Why should it concern any affair of mine?” I asked.

“You love her, and she loves you; may she not abdicate in my favor?”

“And if she should?” with an accent of impatience.

Phyllis grew silent.  “Forgive me, Jack!” impulsively.  “But all this is scarcely to be believed.  And then you say there are no proofs.”

“Not in the eyes of the law,” I replied; “but nature has written it in your faces.”  I was wondering why she had not gone into raptures at the prospect of becoming a Princess.