“And now,” asked Hugh, “where is Ethel—my sister?” Hardly had he asked the question when he heard her singing within.
“Go, Hugh, my son, and tell her all. I am so overcome; I must compose myself and prepare to set out immediately for your father.”
As Hugh turned and walked briskly along the veranda, he saw Doctor Redfield disembarking from a boat-ride. Through the screen door he saw Ethel, whose tender brown eyes and marvelous beauty were daily growing more radiant under the expanding influence of an ennobling and reciprocal love. She was humming a love ditty to herself as Hugh pushed aside the screen and approached her.
“Welcome, my good friend,” said she, looking up and extending her hand, “Jack and I were talking of you while taking our boat-ride, and had made up our minds to go and fetch you, had you not come of your own accord. Now then,” said she, roguishly, “where are your excuses and explanations?”
“Ah, Ethel,” said Hugh, as he still held her hand in his with tenderest loyalty and respect, “I have much to say.” And then, controlling his excitement as much as possible, he hurriedly related all that had happened.
“Poor daddy,” murmured Ethel, while tears trembled in her eyes as she followed the detail with closest attention.
“And have you told mamma?”
“All,” replied Hugh.
“Then we must order the carriage and go at once for my darling father. Ah, Hugh, he is your father as well; and you—you are my brother!” A flood of recollections seemed suddenly to envelop both brother and sister, and for a moment they were stunned.
“Yes,” said Hugh, “you are my sister,” and, taking her in his strong arms, he embraced her fervently.