“I soon repented of my harshness,” he said, “and I went back to Elmwood; but, oh, the pity of it––the pity of it––I was too late; little Daisy, my bride, was dead! She had thrown herself down a shaft in a delirium. I would have followed her, but they held me back. I can scarcely realize it, mother,” he cried. “The great wonder is that I do not go insane.”
Mrs. Lyon had heard but one word––“Dead.” This girl who had inveigled her handsome son into a low marriage was dead. Rex was free––free to marry the bride whom she had selected for him. Yet she dare not mention that thought to him now––no, not now; she must wait a little.
No pity lurked in her heart for the poor little girl-bride whom she supposed lying cold and still in death, whom her son so wildly mourned; she only realized her 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, 96 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.