Daisy Brooks Part 11

"The course of true love never runs smooth," it ran, "and I beseech you, Pluma dear, if anything should ever happen, any shadow fall upon your love, I beseech you send for Rex and place this letter in his hands. It would not be unwomanly, Pluma, because I, his mother, so earnestly request it; for, on your love for each other hangs my hopes of happiness. Rex is impulsive and willful, but he will respect his mother's wishes."

No thought of treachery ever crossed Rex's mind as he read the lines before him; he never once dreamed the ingeniously worded postscript had been so cleverly imitated and added by Pluma's own hand. It never occurred to him for an instant to doubt the sincerity of the words he read, when he knew how dearly his mother loved the proud, haughty heiress before him.

"I heard you were going away, Rex," she said, softly, "and I--I could not let you go so, and break my own heart."

"In one sense, I am glad you sent for me," said Rex, quietly ignoring her last remark. "I shall be much pleased to renew our friendship, Miss Pluma, for I need your friendship--nay, more, I need your sympathy and advice more than I can express. I have always endeavored to be frank with you, Pluma," he said, kindly. "I have never spoken words which might lead you to believe I loved you."

He saw her face grow white under his earnest gaze and the white lace on her bosom rise and fall convulsively, yet she made him no answer.

"Please permit me to tell you why, Pluma," he said, taking her hand and leading her to a sofa, taking a seat by her side. "I could not,"

he continued, "in justice to either you or myself; for I never knew what love was," he said, softly, "until the night of the fete." Again he paused; but, as no answer was vouchsafed him, he went on: "I never knew what love meant until I met Daisy--little Daisy Brooks."

"Rex!" cried Pluma, starting to her feet, "you know not what you say--surely you do not know! I would have warned you, but you would not listen. I saw you drifting toward a yawning chasm; I stretched out my arms to save you, but you would not heed me. You are a stranger to the people around here, Rex, or they would have warned you. Sin is never so alluring as in the guise of a beautiful woman. It is not too late yet. Forget Daisy Brooks; she is not a fit companion for n.o.ble Rex Lyon, or pure enough to kiss an honest man's lips."

"For G.o.d's sake, Miss Hurlhurst, what do you mean?" cried Rex, slowly rising from his seat and facing her, pale as death. "In Heaven's name, explain the accusations you have just uttered, or I shall go mad! If a man had uttered those words, I would have--"

The words died away on his lips; he remembered he was talking to a woman. Rex's eyes fairly glowed with rage as he turned on his heel and strode rapidly up and down the room.

"Rex," said Pluma, softly advancing a step toward him, "it always grieves a true woman to admit the error of a fallen sister--they would shield her if such a thing were possible."

"I do not believe it," retorted Rex, impetuously. "Women seem to take a keen delight in slandering one another, as far as I can see. But you might as well tell me yonder moon was treacherous and vile as to tell me Daisy Brooks was aught but sweet and pure--you could not force me to believe it."

"I do not attempt to force you to believe it. I have told you the truth, as a loving sister might have done. None are so blind as those who will not see," she said, toying with the jewels upon her white fingers.

"Daisy Brooks is as pure as yonder lily," cried Rex, "and I love her as I love my soul!"

His quivering, impa.s.sioned voice thrilled Pluma to her heart's core, and she felt a keen regret that this wealth of love was withheld from her own hungry heart. Rex had never appeared so n.o.ble, so handsome, so well worth winning, in her eyes, as at that moment.

"I am sorry for you, Rex," sobbed Pluma, artfully burying her face in her lace kerchief, "because she can never return your love; she does not love you, Rex."

"Yes, she does love me," cried Rex. "I have settled it beyond a doubt."

"She has settled it beyond a doubt--is not that what you mean, Rex?"

she asked, looking him squarely in the face, with a peculiar glitter in her sparkling dark eyes.

"There is something you are keeping from me, Pluma," cried Rex, seizing both of her hands, and gazing anxiously into the false, fair, smiling, treacherous face. "You know where Daisy has gone--in Heaven's name, tell me! I can not endure the suspense--do not torture me, Pluma! I will forget you have spoken unkindly of poor little Daisy if you will only tell me where she has gone."

"Sit down, Rex," she said, soothingly; "I will not dare tell you while you look at me with such a gleaming light in your eyes. Promise not to interrupt me to the end."

A nameless dread was clutching at his heart-strings. What could she mean? he asked himself, confusedly. What did this foul mystery mean?

He must know, or he would go mad!

"You may speak out unreservedly, Miss Pluma," he said, hoa.r.s.ely. "I give you my word, as a gentleman, I shall not interrupt you, even though your words should cause me a bitter heart-pang."

He stood before her, his arms folded across his breast, yet no pang of remorse crept into Pluma Hurlhurst's relentless heart for the cruel blow she was about to deal him.

"I must begin at the time of the lawn fete," she said. "That morning a woman begged to see me, sobbing so piteously I could not refuse her an audience. No power of words could portray the sad story of suffering and wrong she poured into my ears, of a niece--beautiful, young, pa.s.sionate, and willful--and of her prayers and useless expostulations, and of a handsome, dissolute lover to whom the girl was pa.s.sionately attached, and of elopements she had frustrated, alas! more than once. Ah! how shall I say it!--the lover was not a marrying man."

Pluma stopped short, and hid her face again in her kerchief as if in utter confusion.

"Go on--go on!" cried Rex, hoa.r.s.ely.

"'Lend me money,' cried the woman, 'that I may protect the girl by sending her off to school at once. Kind lady, she is young, like you, and I beg you on my knees!' I gave the woman the required amount, and the girl was taken to school the very next day. But the end was not there. The lover followed the girl--there must have been a preconcerted plan between them--and on the morning after she had entered school she fled from it--fled with her lover. That lover was Lester Stanwick--gay, fascinating, perfidious Lester--whom you know but too well. Can you not guess who the girl was, Rex?"

The dark eyes regarding her were frozen with horror, his white lips moved, but no sound issued from them. She leaned nearer to him, her dark, perfumed hair swept across his face as she whispered, with startling effect:

"The girl was Daisy Brooks, and she is at this moment in company with her lover! Heaven pity you, Rex; you must learn to forget her."

CHAPTER XI.

When Daisy Brooks opened her eyes, she found herself lying on a white bed, and in a strange apartment which she never remembered having seen before. For one brief instant she quite imagined the terrible ordeal through which she had pa.s.sed was but a dream. Then it all came back to her with cruel distinctness.

"Where am I?" she cried, struggling up to a sitting posture, and putting back the tangled golden hair from her face. "How came I here?

Who saved me from the terrible dark water?"

"I did," answered a young man, rising from his seat by the open window. "I saved your life at the risk of my own. Look up into my face, Daisy, and see if you do not remember me."

She lifted her blue eyes to the dark, handsome, smiling face before her. Yes, she had seen that face before, but she could not remember where.

He laughed, disclosing his handsome white teeth.

"You can not guess, eh?" he said. "Then it is certainly evident I did not make much of an impression upon you. I am disappointed. I will not keep you in suspense, however. We met at Whitestone Hall, on the night of the lawn fete, and my name is Lester Stanwick."

Ah, she _did_ remember him, standing beneath a waving palm-tree, his bold, dark eyes following her every motion, while she was waltzing with Rex.

He saw the flash of recognition in her eyes, and the blush that mantled her fair, sweet face.

"I am very grateful to you, sir, for saving me. But won't you take me home, please? I don't want to go back to Madame Whitney's."

"Of course not," he said, with a twinkle in his eyes, "when you left it in such a remarkable manner as running away."

"How did you know I ran away?" asked Daisy, flushing hotly.

"Madame Whitney has advertised for you," he responded, promptly.

Although he well knew what he uttered was a deliberate falsehood, he merely guessed the little wild bird had grown weary of the restraint, and had flown away.

"Did she do that?" asked Daisy, thoroughly alarmed, her great blue eyes dilating with fear. "Oh, Mr. Stanwick, what shall I do? I do not want to go back. I would sooner die first."

"There is no occasion for you to do either," he replied. "You are in good hands. Stay here until the storm blows over. In all probability the madame has sent detectives out in all directions searching for you."

Daisy was so young, so unsuspecting, so artless, and knew so little of the ways of the world or its intriguing people that she quite believed his a.s.sertion.

"Oh, what shall I do?" she sobbed, covering her face with her hands.