THREE weary nights and two days had passed, when as Mr. Legrange,
bending over his wife's sofa, entreated her to take the food and
drink he had himself prepared for her, a sharp peal at the bell,
followed by a bounding step upon the stair, startled them both.

"It is Tom, and he has news!" exclaimed Mrs. Legrange in a low
voice, as she pushed away the tray and rose to her feet.

The door opened, and the young man entered, his tired face glowing
with hope and satisfaction. In his hand he held a little bundle; and
sitting down, with no more than word of greeting, he hastily untied
it upon his knee.

"Aren't these her clothes?" asked he breathlessly, as he held up by
one sleeve a little sky-blue merino-dress, with a torn lace
undersleeve hanging from the shoulder, and in the other hand a pair
of dainty little boots of bronze cloth.

Mrs. Legrange, with a wild cry, darted forward, and, grasping the
pretty dress, buried her face in it, covering it with kisses, while
she cried,--

"Yes, yes! O Tom! where is she? Tell me quick, before my poor heart
breaks with joy!"

Mr. Burroughs remained silent. How could he say that he knew as