ce."

The next morning broke bright and clear; the sunshine drifted through
the green foliage of the trees, and crimson-breasted robins sung
their sweetest songs in the swaying boughs of the blossoming
magnolias; pansies and buttercups gemmed the distant hill-slope, and
nature's fountain--a merry, babbling brook--danced joyously through
the clover banks. No cloud was in the fair, blue, smiling heavens; no
voice of nature warned poor little Daisy, as she stood at the open
window drinking in the pure, sweet beauty of the morning of the dark
clouds which were gathering over her innocent head, and of the storm
which was so soon to burst upon her in all its fury. Daisy turned away
from the window with a little sigh. She did not see a handsome,
stalwart figure hurrying down the hill-side toward the cottage. How
her heart would have throbbed if she had only known Rex (for it was
he) was so near her! With a strangely beating heart he advanced toward
the little wicket gate, at which stood one of the sisters, busily
engaged pruning her rose-bushes.

"Can you tell me, madame, where I can find the Misses Burton's
cottage?" he asked, courteously lifting his hat.

"This is the Burton cottage," she answered, "and I am Ruth Burton.
What can I do for you?"

"I would like to see Daisy Brooks, if you please. She is here, I
believe?" he said, questioningly. "May I come in?"

Rex's handsome, boyish face and winning smile won their way straight
to the old lady's heart at once.

"Perhaps you are the young lady's brother, sir? There is evidently
some mistake, however, as the young lady's name is Stanwick--Daisy
Stanwick. Her husband, Lester Stanwick--I believe that is the name--is
also in Elmwood."

All the color died out of Rex's handsome face and the light from his
brown eyes. He leaned heavily against the gate-post. The words seemed
shrieked on the air and muttered on the breeze.

"Daisy is _not_ his wife! My God, madame!" he cried, hoarsely, "she
_could not_ be!"

"It is very true," replied the old lady, softly. "I have her own words
for it. There may be some mistake, as you say," she said, soothingly,
noting the death-like despair that settled over the noble face. "She
is a pretty, fair, winsome little creature, blue-eyed, and curling
golden hair, and lives at Allendale. She is certainly married. I will
call her. She shall tell you so herself. Daisy--Mrs. Stanwick--come
here, dear," she called.

"I am coming, Miss Ruth," ans