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The name, Evalia Hurlhurst, seemed to fall upon her ears like the softest, sweetest music. Perhaps she wished she was like that young wife, who had died so long ago, resting quietly beneath the white daisies that bore her name. "That is Madame Whitney's," exclaimed the lady, leaning forward toward the window excitedly. "Dear me! I can almost imagine I am a young girl again.
"You know how I have suffered since that terrible night," he said shudderingly. "The double loss of my sweet young wife and her little babe has nearly driven me mad. I am a changed man, the weight of the cross I have had to bear has crushed me. I live on, but my heart is buried in the grave of my sweet, golden-haired Evalia and her little child.
'To still this wild, fierce throbbing of my heart I must have that grave opened, and gaze once more upon all that remains of my loved and long-lost bride, sweet Evalia and her little child. He was " Birdie never finished her sentence. A terrible cry broke from the housekeeper's livid lips.
One short year after she married Evalia Hurlhurst died." The lady never forgot the strange glance that passed over the girl's face, or the wonderful light that seemed to break over it. "Why," exclaimed the lady, as if a sudden thought occurred to her, "when you bought your ticket I heard you mention Allendale. That was the home of the Hurlhursts. Is it possible you know them? Mr.
"I have brought some one else to you, my darling," he said. "See, Pluma a new mamma! And see who else a wee, dimpled little sister, with golden hair like mamma's, and great blue eyes. Little Evalia is your sister, dear. Pluma must love her new mamma and sister for papa's sake."
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