darling Rex was free. What mattered it
to her at what bitter a cost Rex was free? She should yet see her
darling hopes realized. Pluma should be his wife, just as sure as they
both lived.

"I have told you all now, mother," Rex said, in conclusion; "you must
comfort me, for Heaven knows I need all of your sympathy. You will
forgive me, mother," he said. "You would have loved Daisy, too, if you
had seen her; I shall always believe, through some enormous villainy,
Stanwick must have tempted her. I shall follow him to the ends of the
earth. I shall wring the truth from his lips. I must go away," he
cried--"anywhere, everywhere, trying to forget my great sorrow. How am
I to bear it? Has Heaven no pity, that I am so sorely tried?"

At that moment little Birdie came hobbling into the room, and for a
brief moment Rex forgot his great grief in greeting his little
sister.

"Oh, you darling brother Rex," she cried, clinging to him and laughing
and crying in one breath, "I told them to wake me up sure, if you came
in the night. I dreamed I heard your voice. You see, it must have been
real, but I couldn't wake up; and this morning I heard every one
saying: 'Rex is here, Rex is here,' and I couldn't wait another
moment, but I came straight down to you."

Rex kissed the pretty little dimpled face, and the little chubby hands
that stroked his hair so tenderly.

"Why, you have been crying, Rex," she cried out, in childish wonder.
"See, there are tear-drops on your eyelashes--one fell on my hand.
What is the matter, brother dear, are you not happy?"

Birdie put her two little soft white arms around his neck, laying her
cheek close to his in her pretty, childish, caressing way.

He tried to laugh lightly, but the laugh had no mirth in it.

"You must run away and play, Birdie, and not annoy your brother," said
Mrs. Lyon, disengaging the child's clinging arms from Rex's neck.
"That child is growing altogether too observing of late."

"Child!" cried Birdie. "I am ten years old. I shall soon be a young
lady like Bess and Gertie, over at Glengrove."

"And Eve," suggested Rex, the shadow of a smile flickering around his
mouth.

"No, not like Eve," cried the child, gathering up her crutch and
sun-hat as she limped toward the door; "Eve is not a young lady, she's
a Tom-boy; she wears short dresses and chases the hounds around, while
the other two wear silk dresses with big, big trains and have beaus to
hold their fans and handkerc