HAPPY HETTY.
About three weeks had passed away. Hetty had endured the worst throes of
her disappointment, and had almost succeeded in banishing Reine out of
her thoughts. She had steadily turned away her eyes from looking back at
that beautiful evening, when, as if by enchantment, a girl who looked
and spoke like a sister had held her in a loving embrace, lavishing
kisses and loving words upon her, Hetty, who was known to be nobody's
child. The quiet studious days went on as if no brilliant interruption
had ever flashed in upon them. Miss Davis, at Mrs. Enderby's desire,
kept Hetty more than ordinarily busy, and hindered her from paying her
customary visits to Mrs. Kane. Mrs. Enderby distrusted the good woman's
ability to keep a secret, and, with that prudence which had always
distinguished her in her dealings with Hetty, she was resolved that the
girl should hear no whisper to disturb her tranquillity till such time
as her identity should be considered satisfactorily proved.
At the end of three weeks' time, however, news came from London to Mr.
Enderby which placed it beyond a doubt that Hetty was Helen Gaythorne,
the baby who had been supposed to be drowned. Although Mrs. Enderby and
her daughters had been prepared for this result of the inquiries that
had been on foot, yet the established fact, with its tremendous
importance for Hetty, seemed to come on them with a shock. The child who
had been protected in their house, no longer needed their protection.
The girl who was to have been sent out soon as a governess to earn her
bread, would henceforth have pleasant bread to eat in a sister's
luxurious home. The dependant, whom it had been thought judicious to
snub, was now the equal of those who had so prudently dealt with her
according to their lights.
Mr. and Mrs. Enderby were extremely pleased at the child's good fortune,
and thankful that they had not been induced to send her to a charity
school.
"You are always right, dear," said Mrs. Enderby, looking at her husband
with pride. "When I was a coward in the matter you insisted on having
her here. And if she had gone elsewhere she would never have met Reine,
and her identity could hardly have been discovered."
"And her sister may thank you that she does not receive her a spoiled,
passionate, unmanageable monkey. Your prudent treatment of the girl has
had admirable results. Her demeanour has pleased me very much of late.
Meekness and obedience have taken the place of her wilfulness and
pride."
Nell was perfectly wild with excitement and delight, clapped her hands
over her head and danced about the room.
"I was always the one who liked Hetty the best," she said triumphantly,
"and now she will remember it. She will ask me to France to stay with
her. And nobody can warn me any more not to give her too much
encouragement. I can be allowed to make a companion of Miss Helen
Gaythorne."
"What a very unpleasant way you always have of twisting things!" said
Phyllis, who had been remarkably silent all along as to the change in
Hetty's circumstances. "I am as glad as anyone of Hetty's discovery; but
I do not see why it should make any difference to us."
"Phyllis takes a more disinterested view of the matter than you do,
Nell," said Mrs. Enderby smiling; "but then my Phyllis was always a wise
little girl."
Nell pouted, and Phyllis held her head high. Mrs. Enderby thought she
knew the hearts of both. But the woman who could be so exceedingly
prudent in the management of "nobody's child" was blind to a great deal
that required skilful treatment in the characters and dispositions of
her own daughters.
Miss Davis was more affected than anyone in the house by the news of
Hetty's extraordinary good fortune. Unconsciously to herself she had
learned to love the girl, whom she had counted upon having by her side
for many years to come, and it was not without a pang that she saw the
young figure disappear suddenly out of her future. Hetty alone knew
nothing of the change that had befallen her.
"No, my dear," said Mrs. Enderby to Nell, "I will not allow you to tell
her. Indeed, I am a little nervous about the matter, for Hetty is such a
strangely impressionable girl one never knows what way she will take
things. I must break the truth to her myself."
So Hetty was sent for to Mrs. Enderby's dressing-room, and went with
rather a heavy heart, thinking some complaint had been made of her. She
had never been so sent for except when trouble was impending.
"I must try to be patient," she was thinking as she went up the stairs.
"I do not know what I can have done so very wrong, but I suppose there
must be something."
But her sadness was soon turned into amazement and joy.
"Hetty," said Mrs. Enderby, "Miss Gaythorne wishes to have you with her
in London, on a visit. Mr. Enderby and I have consented to allow you to
go; and I suppose you will not object to give her pleasure."
"Miss Gaythorne!" exclaimed Hetty, scarcely believing she had heard
rightly.
"She has taken a fancy to you, and wishes to have you with her. She is a
charming girl, and I am sure she will make you happy."
Hetty's face, glowing with delight, sufficiently answered this last
speech; but her tongue could find no words.
"In fact, I may as well tell you," continued Mrs. Enderby, "that Reine
has discovered you are some kind of relation of hers; and, as she is her
own mistress and very independent, she will be disposed to make the most
of the relationship."
Hetty was turning slowly pale. "Relationship!" she murmured. "Am I
really related to Miss Gaythorne?" and Reine's cry, "My mother, oh, my
mother!" seemed to ring again in her ears.
"I believe so, my dear. There, do not think too much of it. At all
events, you are to go to her now, and she will tell you all about it.
But mind, you and she are to come back and spend Christmas with us. Mark
will be at home then, and he will be anxious to see his old playfellow."
"Christmas!" echoed Hetty, in new astonishment. This was only the end of
September.
"You see, I fancy Reine will not let you go in a hurry once she has got
you," said Mrs. Enderby; "and now, my dear, don't stand there in a dream
any longer, but run away and get ready for the mid-day train. Mr.
Enderby has to do some business in London, and he will leave you in
Portland Place. No, you will not have time to go to see Mrs. Kane. I
will give her your love, and tell her you will see her when you come
back."
"I am not going to have her told till she is in her sister's house,"
reflected Mrs. Enderby; "and Mrs. Kane would be sure to pour out
everything suddenly. The child is of so excitable a nature, I do not
know what might be the consequences to her."
That she could not say good-bye to Mrs. Kane made the only flaw in
Hetty's happiness; but she left a little note for her with Miss Davis,
who promised to have it safely delivered. And then, with smiles and good
wishes from everyone, and pondering over a few mysterious glances which
she caught passing from one person to another over her head, Hetty took
her place by Mr. Enderby in his trap, and was whirled away to the
railway-station.
Mr. Enderby talked to her kindly as they went along, about the pleasures
in store for her in London, especially in the picture-galleries, as she
had a taste for art.
"And always remember, my dear," he said, "that in the rules I laid down
for your education with a view to your future, I acted as I thought best
for your good."
Hetty said warmly, "I know--I am sure of that"; and then she began to
wonder at his curious manner of speaking, as if all his dealings with
her were in the past, and he had no longer any control over her. Could
it be, she asked herself, that Reine was going to take her and have her
taught to be an artist?
The thought was too delightful to be borne with, considering the
likelihood of disappointment. She tried to put it out of her head, and
listened to Mr. Enderby as he talked to her of Westminster Abbey and the
Tower.
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!"
"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.