Our heroine, left alone in the parlor below, paced excitedly to and fro for several minutes; then dropping into a chair, rested her elbows on a table and covered her face with her hands.

Her heart was swelling with joy unutterable and thankfulness to that heavenly Friend who had been her ever-present help in time of trouble, her comfort and support in the dark days of adversity, and had at length brought her quest to this happy ending, and she was sending up to Him her silent but most fervent thanksgivings.

In an adjoining room three young people had been sitting for the last half-hour or more, very quiet and still, yet full of an eager expectancy that made the waiting time seem very long and tedious. They exchanged glances, and drew nearer together as Mr. and Mrs. Heywood mounted the stairway.

“What shall we do, Ellis?” whispered one. “She’s in there all alone, and must we wait till some one comes to take us in and introduce us in due form?”

“No, Dora, I should say not. Why should we? Come, both of you. I’ll be spokesman.”

Ethel heard the approaching footsteps, quiet, almost stealthy as they were, and taking her hands from her face, turned it toward them.

A lad with a noble face and gentlemanly manner, a fair young girl whom to look upon was like seeing her own reflection in the glass, except that this face was somewhat more youthful, lacking the maturity, sorrow, and care far more than years had brought to hers, and a little girl with a sweet, winsome face, blue eyes, and soft, flaxen curls, stood before her.

“Excuse us if we seem intruders,” said the lad, with a courtly bow and offering his hand, “but we don’t know how to wait till some older person shall find time to introduce us, for we know we have a right in you, if you will pardon me for saying it; but these are your sisters and mine, and I am your brother. Their names are Dora and Nannette Heywood, and mine is Ellis.”

“Oh, I am glad, glad!” cried Ethel, her face sparkling with pleasure as she embraced each in turn, then made them sit down, and called Katty to bring refreshments. “I am so happy, so happy!” she said, glancing from one to another with tears of joy trembling in her eyes. “To have found my dear, dear mother, for whom I’ve been searching for years, seems to fill my cup of bliss to overflowing; and now I have a dear brother and sisters in addition—oh, it seems too much delight for one heart to hold!”

The tears fairly rolled down in a shower as she concluded, and Dora, springing up, threw her arms about her neck.

“Oh, I love you already!” she cried. “Dear Ethel, dear sister!”

“Sister!” Ethel exclaimed. “Ah, I never thought to find any one who had the right to call me that! I had dear, adopted parents, who, until the day of their death, I supposed were indeed my own, but I never had a brother or sister, and I have often envied those who had. But how is it that I did not see you before, and that you know all about me?” she asked, looking from sister to brother.

“We were not far in the rear of our parents when they came upon the picture, and we heard and saw all that passed,” said Ellis.

“And understood it,” added Dora with eager animation, “for all our lives long mamma has talked to us of her dear, first-born baby, her darling little Ethel, lost in so sad a manner, and we have known that she was always looking for you and hoping to find you. Poor dear mamma!”

“Dear, happy mamma now!” corrected Ellis, with a smile and an affectionate, admiring glance at his newly-discovered sister.

For a short space overpowering emotion kept Ethel silent. How sweet it was to know that there had never been a time since her birth when she had not had a warm place in that loving mother-heart!

“Yes,” said Dora, “you are right there, Ellis. What joy there was in her face—although she was weeping, too—as I caught sight of it as papa helped her into the carriage that brought them here, and placed sister Ethel by her side.”

“That reminds me,” said Ethel, with sudden recollection, “that you did not come with us—you three. How did you get here?”

“The artist gave us the address while father was putting you ladies into the hack,” replied Ellis. “He told us, too, that it was our aunt’s house; and knowing that you were our sister we felt pretty secure of a welcome, so followed on. The distance, you know, is not great, and the street-cars brought us part of the way.”

“Now, Ellis, let our new sister talk awhile; I think it’s her turn,” said Nannette; and coming to Ethel’s side, and looking coaxingly into her face, “Won’t you please tell us where you’ve been all this time, and what you’ve been doing?” she asked. “How could you ever do without mamma, ’specially when you had no papa either?”

“I have wanted her very, very much since—since my dear adopted mother died,” Ethel answered, tears trembling in her eyes, while she put her arms about the child and kissed her tenderly. “Yes, little sister, I will tell you what you have asked,” and she went on to give a rapid sketch of her life, dwelling more at length upon her early childhood than on the events of after-years.

All three listened with intense interest, one or another putting an occasional question when there was a pause in her narrative.

Then she asked for a return of her confidence, and her request was granted with evident pleasure. Ellis was the chief speaker, the girls now and then assisting his memory till they had given Ethel quite a clear idea of their home life.

A very charming picture it seemed to her, and her heart swelled with increasing joy and gratitude at the thought that she would now have a place in that happy family—the place of one who possessed an equal right there with the others, and joyfully acknowledged by them, for Mr. Heywood had already embraced and called her “daughter” in such tender, fatherly fashion that she could not doubt her welcome from him.