"It is certainly not a personal letter," said Bess, maliciously glancing at the superscription. "Don't you see it is addressed to 'Mrs. Glenn and daughters.'" "In a time like that people don't think much of letters," commented Mrs. Glenn, apologetically. "Read the letter aloud, of course, my dear." It read: "DEAR LADIES,--I thank you more than I can express for your kind sympathy in my present sad bereavement. I would gladly have accepted your offer of bringing my dear little orphan sister to you, had I not received a telegram this morning from Miss Pluma Hurlhurst, of Whitestone Hall, West Virginia, announcing her intention of coming on at once, accompanied by Mrs. Corliss, to take charge of little Birdie. "Again thanking you for the courtesy and kindness shown me, I am "Yours very truly, "REXFORD LYON." There was a low, gasping, piteous cry; and the little figure at the window slipped down among the soft, billowy curtains in a deadly swoon; but the three, so deeply engrossed in discussing the contents of the note, did not notice it. At last Daisy opened her eyes, and the blue eyes were dazed with pain. She could hear them coupling the names of Rex and Pluma Hurlhurst. Rex--her husband! Daisy was blind and stupefied. She groped rather than walked from the library--away from the three, who scarcely noticed her absence. Who cared that her heart was broken? Who cared that the cruel stab had gone home to her tender, bleeding heart; that the sweet young face was whiter than the petals of the star-bells tossing their white plumes against the casement? Slowly, blindly, with one hand grasping the balusters, she went up the broad staircase to her own room. She tried to think of everything on the way except the one thing that had taken place. She thought of the story she had read, of a girl who was slain by having a dagger plunged into her breast. The girl ran a short distance, and when the dagger was drawn from the wound, she fell down dead. In some way she fancied she was like that girl--that, when she should reach her own room and stand face to face with her own pain, she should drop down dead. The door was closed, and she stood motionless, trying to understand and realize what she had heard. "Have my senses deceived me?" She said the words over and over to herself. "Did I dream it? Can it even be possible Pluma Hurlhurst is coming here, coming to the home where I should have been? God help me. Coming to comfort Rex--my husband!" She could fancy the darkly beautiful face bending over him; her white jeweled hands upon his shoulder, or, perhaps, smoothing back the bonny brown clustering curls from his white brow. "My place should have been by his side," she continued. It hurt and pained her to hear the name of the man she loved dearer than life mentioned with the name of Pluma Hurlhurst.