t, green grass.

At that instant swift, springy footsteps came hurriedly down the path,
and a voice, which seemed to pierce her very heart, called: "Birdie,
little Birdie, where are you?"

"Here, Brother Rex," called the child, holding out her arms to him
with eager delight. "Come here, Rex, and carry me; I have broken my
crutch."

For one brief instant the world seemed to stand still around poor,
hapless Daisy, the forsaken girl-bride. The wonder was that she did
not die, so great was her intense emotion. Rex was standing before
her--the handsome, passionate lover, who had married her on the
impulse of the moment; the man whom she loved with her whole heart, at
whose name she trembled, of whom she had made an idol in her girlish
heart, and worshiped--the lover who had vowed so earnestly he would
shield her forever from the cold, cruel world, who had sworn eternal
constancy, while the faithful gleaming stars watched him from the blue
sky overhead.

Yes, it was Rex! She could not see through the thick, misty veil, how
pale his face was in the gathering darkness. Oh, Heaven! how her
passionate little heart went out to him! How she longed, with a
passionate longing words could not tell, to touch his hand, or rest
her weary head on his breast.

Her brain whirled; she seemed, to live ages in those few moments.
Should she throw herself on her knees, and cry out to him, "Oh, Rex,
Rex, my darling! I am _not_ guilty! Listen to me, my love. Hear my
pleading--listen to my prayer! I am more sinned against than sinning.
My life has been as pure as an angel's--take me back to your heart, or
I shall die!"

"She has been so good to me, Rex," whispered Birdie, clinging to the
veil which covered Daisy's face. "I broke my crutch, and she has
carried me from the stone wall; won't you please thank her for me,
brother?"

Daisy's heart nearly stopped beating; she knew the eventful moment of
her life had come, when Rex, her handsome young husband, turned
courteously toward her, extending his hand with a winning smile.

CHAPTER XIX.

On the day following Rex's return home, and the morning preceding the
events narrated in our last chapter, Mrs. Theodore Lyon sat in her
dressing-room eagerly awaiting her son; her eyebrows met in a dark
frown and her jeweled hands were locked tightly together in her lap.

"Rex is like his father," she mused; "he will not be coerced in this
matter of marriage. He is reckless and willful, yet k