“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.