At last, the agitated girl looked up at the kind and loving faces that were bending over her, and murmured,—
'It cannot be—it is—too good—too great—too happy.'
'It is true, Gladys, my niece, my child,' said Mr Jones, stooping to kiss her forehead.
Mrs Jones sat down by her, and taking one of her hands in hers, said,—
'It all seems a dream, Gladys. But if it be true, remember, you are now my niece, my child as well; and, God knows, I love you, and value you dearly.'
Once more the lonely Gladys felt that she had kindred. Yielding to the feeling, she threw her arms round Mrs Jones' neck, and gave vent to the emotion she had been striving to suppress.
At this juncture, Miss Gwynne appeared, who, wondering in her turn what could detain Mr and Mrs Jones so long from their guests, came to look for them.
Of course, she wondered still more when she found them both with their arms round one another and Gladys.
She was going away; but Mrs Jones, perceiving her, said,—
'Come in, dear Freda, Minette's hymn has led to a wonderful discovery—has given us a niece—a child—in—in—our dear friend Gladys.'