“Yes, yes, I remember everything,” and Nina’s chest began to heave, her chin to quiver, her white lips, too, but still she shed no tear, and the dry, blue eyes seemed piercing Edith’s very soul as the latter continued, rapidly, “Nina came home to Florida; she sent for Miggie, and Miggie came, finding Marie who told her all—­ told her where the baby was—­and the real Miggie fell on her face, thanking the good Father for giving her the sweetest, dearest sister a mortal ever had.  Do you understand me, darling?  Do you know now who I am—­know who Miggie is?”

Edith’s voice began to falter, and when she had finished she sat gazing at the fairy form, which trembled and writhed a moment as if in fearful convulsions, then the struggling ceased, the features became composed, and raising herself in bed Nina crept closer and closer to Edith, her lips quivering as if she fain would speak but had not the power.  Slowly the little hands were raised and met together around Edith’s neck; nearer and nearer the white face came to the dark glowing one, until breath met breath, lip met lip, golden tresses mixed with raven braids, and with a cry which made the very rafters ring and went echoing far out into the darkness, Nina said, “You are—­that—­that—­ba-baby—­the one we thought was dead.  You are my—­my—­Nina’s—­oh, Miggie, say it for me or Nina’ll choke to death.  She can’t think what the right word is—­the word that means Miggie,” and poor exhausted Nina fell back upon the pillow, while Edith, bending over her, whispered in her ear, “Miggie means sister, darling; your sister; do you hear?”

“Yes, yes,” and again the wild, glad cry went ringing through the house, as Nina threw herself a second time on Edith’s bosom.  “Sister, sister, Nina’s sister.  Nina’s little Miggie once, great, tall Miggie now,—­mine, my own—­nobody’s sister but mine.  Does Arthur know, Ho, Arthur! come quick!  He is coming, don’t you hear him.  Arthur, Arthur, Miggie is mine.  My precious sister,” and Nina Bernard fell back fainting just as Arthur appeared in the room, and just as from the yard without there went up from the congregated blacks, who together with their master and Victor, had listened to Marie’s story, a deafening shout, a loud huzza for “Miggie Bernard,” come back to Sunnybank, and back to those who generously admitted her claim, and would ere long acknowledge her as their mistress.

The few particulars which Edith had omitted in her story to Nina may, perhaps, be better told now than at any other time.  Mr. Bernard, while in Paris, had been implicated in some disgraceful affair which rendered him liable to arrest, and taking the name of Temple, by way of avoiding suspicion, he fled to Germany, where he met and married the beautiful Swedish Petrea, who, being young and weary of a governess’s life, was the more easily charmed with his wealth and rather gentlemanly address.  Because it suited his peculiar nature to do so, he kept his real name from her until they reached New York, when, fearful of meeting with some of his acquaintances there, he confessed the fraud, laughing at it as a good joke, and pronounced Petrea over nice for saying he had done wrong.