There sat a girl—a most forlorn looking girl—her head buried in her arms that rested on the back of a bench. Dorothy could see her shoulders heaving under the stress of heavy sobs.
She started! She held her breath! It looked like—yet could it be her—was it—she feared to ask herself the question.
The girl on the bench raised her tear-stained face. She looked full at Dorothy.
“Tavia!” screamed Dorothy, springing forward.
“TAVIA!” SCREAMED DOROTHY, SPRINGING FORWARD
“Dorothy!” echoed Tavia.
There was a rush, and the next instant Dorothy Dale held Tavia clasped close in her arms, while she murmured, over and over again:
“Tavia! Dear Tavia! I have found you at last! Oh, I am so glad!”
Tavia could only sob.