Daisy Brooks Part 43

It was not often the cool, calculating detective allowed himself to get excited, but as she proceeded he jumped up from his seat, and paced restlessly up and down the room. He was literally astounded.

"Rex Lyon's wife," he mused, thoughtfully. "Well, in all the years of my experience I have never come across anything like this. She has gone to Whitestone Hall, you say, to stop the marriage?" he questioned, eagerly.

"Yes," she replied, "the poor child was almost frantic over it. You seem greatly agitated, Harvey. Have you some new case connected with her?"

"Yes," he answered, grimly. "I think I have two cases."

Mr. Tudor seldom brought his business perplexities to his fireside.

His little wife knew as little of business matters as the sparrows twittering on the branches of the trees out in the garden.

He made up his mind not to mention certain suspicions that had lodged in his mind until he saw his way clearly out of the complicated affair.

He determined it would do no harm to try an experiment, however.

Suiting the action to the thought, he drew out the portrait from his pocket.

"I do not think I shall have as much trouble with this affair as I antic.i.p.ated."

Mrs. Tudor came and leaned over his shoulder.

"Whose picture have you there, Harvey? Why, I declare," she cried, in amazement, "if it isn't Daisy Brooks!"

"Mrs. Rex Lyon, you mean," said the detective, with a sly twinkle in his eye. "But for once in your life you are at sea--and far from sh.o.r.e; this portrait represents a different person altogether. Come, come, wife, get me a cup of tea--quick--and a biscuit," he cried, leading the way to the kitchen, where the savory supper was cooking.

"I haven't time to wait for tea, I must overtake that girl before she reaches Whitestone Hall."

CHAPTER x.x.xVI.

The shade of night was wrapping its dusky mantle over the earth as Daisy, flushed and excited, and trembling in every limb, alighted from the train at Allendale.

Whitestone Hall was quite a distance from the station; she had quite a walk before her.

Not a breath of air seemed to stir the branches of the trees, and the inky blackness of the sky presaged the coming storm.

Since dusk the coppery haze seemed to gather itself together; great purple ma.s.ses of clouds piled themselves in the sky; a lurid light overspread the heavens, and now and then the dense, oppressive silence was broken by distant peals of thunder, accompanied by great fierce rain-drops.

Daisy drew her cloak closer about her, struggling bravely on through the storm and the darkness, her heart beating so loudly she wondered it did not break.

Poor child! how little she knew she was fast approaching the crisis of her life!

She remembered, with a little sob, the last time she had traversed that road--she was seated by John Brooks's side straining her eyes toward the bend in the road, watching eagerly for the first glimpse of the magnolia-tree, and the handsome young husband waiting there.

Coy blushes suffused Daisy's cheeks as she struggled on through the pouring rain. She forgot she was a wretched, unpitied, forsaken little bride, on a mission of such great importance. She was only a simple child, after all, losing sight of all the whole world, as her thoughts dwelt on the handsome young fellow, her husband in name only, whom she saw waiting for her at the trysting-place, looking so cool, so handsome and lovable in his white linen suit and blue tie; his white straw hat, with the blue-dotted band around it, lying on the green gra.s.s beside him, and the sunshine drifting through the green leaves on his smiling face and brown, curling hair.

"If Rex had only known I was innocent, he could not have judged me so harshly. Oh, my love--my love!" she cried out. "Heaven must have made us for each other, but a fate more cruel than death has torn us asunder. Oh, Rex, my love, if you had only been more patient with me!"

She crept carefully along the road through the intense darkness and the down-pouring rain. She knew every inch of the ground. She could not lose her way. She reached the turn in the road which was but a few feet distant from the magnolia-tree where first she had met Rex and where she had seen him last--a few steps more and she would reach it.

A blinding glare of lightning lighted up the scene for one brief instant; there was the tree, but, oh! was it only a fancy of her imagination? she thought she saw a man's figure kneeling under it.

"Who was he, and what was he doing there?" she wondered. She stood rooted to the spot. "Perhaps he had taken refuge there from the fury of the storm."

Daisy was a shrinking, timid little creature; she dared not move a step further, although the golden moments that flitted by were as precious as her life-blood.

She drew back, faint with fear, among the protecting shadows of the trees. Another flash of light--the man was surely gathering wild flowers from the rain-drenched gra.s.s.

"Surely the man must be mad," thought Daisy, with a cold thrill of horror.

Her limbs trembled so from sheer fright they refused to bear her slight weight, and with a shudder of terror she sunk down in the wet gra.s.s, her eyes fixed as one fascinated on the figure under the tree, watching his every movement, as the lurid lightning illumined the scene at brief intervals.

The great bell from the turret of Whitestone Hall pealed the hour of seven, and in the lightning's flash she saw the man arise from his knees; in one hand he held a small bunch of flowers, the other was pressed over his heart.

Surely there was something strangely familiar in that graceful form; then he turned his face toward her.

In that one instantaneous glance she had recognized him--it was Rex, her husband--as he turned hastily from the spot, hurrying rapidly away in the direction of Whitestone Hall.

"Why was Rex there alone on his wedding-night under the magnolia-tree in the terrible storm?" she asked herself, in a strange, bewildered way. "What could it mean?" She had heard the ceremony was to be performed promptly at half past eight, it was seven already. "What could it mean?"

She had been too much startled and dismayed when she found it was Rex to make herself known. Ah, no, Rex must never know she was so near him; it was Pluma she must see.

"Why had he come to the magnolia-tree?" she asked herself over and over again. A moment later she had reached the self-same spot, and was kneeling beneath the tree, just as Rex had done. She put out her little white hand to caress the gra.s.s upon which her husband had knelt, but it was not gra.s.s which met her touch, but a bed of flowers; that was strange, too.

She never remembered flowers to grow on that spot. There was nothing but the soft carpet of green gra.s.s, she remembered.

One or two beneath her touch were broken from the stem. She knew Rex must have dropped them, and the poor little soul pressed the flowers to her lips, murmuring pa.s.sionate, loving words over them. She did not know the flowers were daisies; yet they seemed so familiar to the touch.

She remembered how she had walked home from the rectory with Rex in the moonlight, and thought to herself how funny it sounded to hear Rex call her his wife, in that rich melodious voice of his. Septima had said it was such a terrible thing to be married. She had found it just the reverse, as she glanced up into her pretty young husband's face, as they walked home together; and how well she remembered how Rex had taken her in his arms at the gate, kissing her rosy, blushing face, until she cried out for mercy.

A sudden, blinding flash of lightning lighted up the spot with a lurid light, and she saw a little white cross, with white daisies growing around it, and upon the cross, in that one meteoric flash, she read the words, "Sacred to the memory of Daisy Brooks."

She did not faint, or cry out, or utter any word. She realized all in an instant why Rex had been there. Perhaps he felt some remorse for casting her off so cruelly. If some tender regret for her, whom he supposed dead, was not stirring in his heart, why was he there, kneeling before the little cross which bore her name, on his wedding-night?

Could it be that he had ever loved her? She held out her arms toward the blazing lights that shone in the distance from Whitestone Hall, with a yearning, pa.s.sionate cry. Surely, hers was the saddest fate that had ever fallen to the lot of a young girl.

A great thrill of joy filled her heart, that she was able to prevent the marriage.

She arose from her knees and made her way swiftly through the storm and the darkness, toward the distant cotton fields. She did not wish to enter the Hall by the main gate; there was a small path, seldom used, that led to the Hall, which she had often taken from John Brooks's cottage; that was the one she chose to-night.

Although the storm raged in all its fury without, the interior of Whitestone Hall was ablaze with light, that streamed with a bright, golden glow from every cas.e.m.e.nt.

Strains of music, mingled with the hum of voices, fell upon Daisy's ear, as she walked hurriedly up the path. The damp air that swept across her face with the beating rain was odorous with the perfume of rare exotics.

The path up which she walked commanded a full view of Pluma Hurlhurst's boudoir.

The crimson satin curtains, for some reason, were still looped back, and she could see the trim little maid arranging her long dark hair; she wore a silver-white dressing-robe, bordered around with soft white swan's-down and her dainty white satin-slippered feet rested on a crimson velvet ha.s.sock.