hind the pantry door--a great bunch of them.
Don't they hang there now?"

"Ye--es."

"I thought so," muttered the woman, triumphantly. "Now, listen, Pluma;
I want you to do exactly as I bid you. I want you to go quickly and
quietly, and bring me the longest and thinnest one. You are not to
breathe one word of this to any living soul. Do you understand,
Pluma--I command you to do it."

"Yes," answered the child, dubiously.

"Stay!" she called, as the child was about to turn from her. "Why is
the house lighted up to-night?"

Again the reckless spirit of the child flashed forth.

"My father has brought home his bride," she said. "Don't you see him
bending over her, toward the third window yonder?"

The woman's eyes quickly followed in the direction indicated.

Was it a curse the woman muttered as she watched the fair, golden-haired
young girl-wife's head resting against Basil Hurlhurst's breast, his
arms clasped lovingly about her?

"Go, Pluma!" she commanded, bitterly.

Quickly and cautiously the child sped on her fatal errand through the
storm and the darkness. A moment later she had returned with the key
which was to unlock a world of misery to so many lives.

"Promise me, Pluma, heiress of Whitestone Hall, never to tell what you
have done or seen or heard to-night. You must never dare breathe it
while you live. Say you will never tell, Pluma."

"No," cried the child, "I shall never tell. They might kill me, but I
would never tell them."

The next moment she was alone. Stunned and bewildered, she turned her
face slowly toward the house. The storm did not abate in its fury;
night-birds flapped their wings through the storm overhead; owls
shrieked in the distance from the swaying tree-tops; yet the child
walked slowly home, knowing no fear. In the house lights were moving
to and fro, while servants, with bated breath and light footfalls,
hurried through the long corridors toward her father's room. No one
seemed to notice Pluma, in her dripping robe, creeping slowly along by
their side toward her own little chamber.

It was quite midnight when her father sent for her. Pluma suffered him
to kiss her, giving back no answering caress.

"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
s