The equestrienne sprang to the ground, stood for a moment as if she doubted what eyes and ears were telling her, and then, darting across the ring, threw herself into the outstretched arms of Nadine and Cæsar and Abel, that encircled her so as almost to hide her from sight.
For it was Lydia—their own darling sister—so long lost, and now by kind Providence restored to them.
A scene of great excitement ensued. The spectators marveled what it all meant, and whether it was some novel feature of the performance. The performance was of course suspended, and presently the ubiquitous gendarmes appeared to make inquiry.
Cæsar called upon them to arrest Mossieu Frisch, whom he felt sure had been responsible for Lydia's abduction, and they at once laid hands upon him, and took him off to prison. He was indeed the very man who had put his van in place of theirs at Beaulieu, and had afterwards so startled Nadine by peeping in through the window when they were reckoning up their receipts.
It appeared that the circus had but recently returned to France after many years traveling through Italy and Germany, and that was why all efforts to trace and rescue Lydia had been in vain.
So—all's well that ends well. Lydia, despite her hard life with the circus, had grown into a very attractive girl, little spoiled by her surroundings. Madame Pradère's party had but four members when it left Morainville, but five when it returned. The kind-hearted lady was only too delighted to have one more child to mother, and the Tambys rejoiced beyond description at the restoration of the sister about whose absence they had never ceased to grieve.
The future stretched before them with every promise of happiness. They had had their hard times, and their bitter griefs, and had borne them bravely. Now through a beneficent Providence these were all over and past. And richly they deserved their good fortune, for, amid all their vicissitudes had they not kept their lives pure, and their hearts simple?
FINIS.