Daisy Brooks Part 44

"How beautiful she is!" thought the poor little child-wife, wistfully gazing at her fair, false enemy. "I can not wonder Rex is dazzled by her peerless, royal beauty. I was mad to indulge the fatal, foolish dream that he could ever love me, poor, plain little Daisy Brooks."

Daisy drew her cloak closer about her, and her thick veil more securely over her face. As she raised the huge bra.s.s knocker her heart beat pitifully, yet she told herself she must be brave to the bitter end.

One, two, three minutes pa.s.sed. Was no one coming to answer the summons? Yes--some one came at last, a spruce little French maid, whom Daisy never remembered having seen before.

She laughed outright when Daisy falteringly stated her errand.

"You are mad to think mademoiselle will see you to-night," she answered, contemptuously. "Do you not know this is her wedding-night?"

"She is not married _yet_?" cried Daisy, in a low, wailing voice. "Oh, I must see her!"

With a quizzical expression crossing her face the girl shrugged her shoulders, as she scanned the little dark, dripping figure, answering mockingly:

"The poor make one grand mistake, insisting on what the rich must do.

I say again, my lady will not see you--you had better go about your business."

"Oh, I _must_ see her! indeed, I must!" pleaded Daisy. "Your heart, dear girl, is human, and you can see my anguish is no light one."

Her courage and high resolve seemed to give way, and she wept--as women weep only once in a lifetime--but the heart of the French maid was obdurate.

"Mademoiselle would only be angry," she said; "it would be as much as my place is worth to even mention you to her."

"But my errand can brook no delay," urged Daisy. "You do not realize,"

she gasped, brokenly, while her delicate frame was shaken with sobs, and the hot tears fell like rain down her face.

"All that you say is useless," cried the girl, impatiently, as she purposely obstructed the pa.s.sage-way, holding the doork.n.o.b in her hand; "all your speech is in vain--she will not see you, I say--I will not take her your message."

"Then I will go to her myself," cried Daisy, in desperate determination.

"What's the matter, Marie?" cried a shrill voice from the head of the rose-lighted stairway; "what in the world keeps you down there so long? Come here instantly."

Daisy knew too well the handsome, impatient face and the imperious, commanding voice.

"Miss Hurlhurst," she called out, piteously, "I must see you for a few minutes. I shall die if you refuse me. My errand is one of almost life and death; if you knew how vitally important it was you would not refuse me," she panted.

Pluma Hurlhurst laughed a little hard laugh that had no music in it.

"What would a hundred lives or deaths matter to me?" she said, contemptuously. "I would not listen to you ten minutes to-night if I actually knew it was to save your life," cried the haughty beauty, stamping her slippered foot impatiently.

"It is for your own sake," pleaded Daisy. "See, I kneel to you, Miss Hurlhurst. If you would not commit a crime, I implore you by all you hold sacred, to hear me--grant me but a few brief moments."

"Not an instant," cried Pluma, scornfully; "shut the door, Marie, and send that person from the house."

"Oh, what shall I do!" cried Daisy, wringing her hands. "I am driven to the very verge of madness! Heaven pity me--the bitter consequence must fall upon your own head."

She turned away with a low, bitter cry, as the maid slammed the heavy oaken door in her face.

"There is no other way for me to do," she told herself, despairingly, "but to see Rex. I do not know how I am going to live through the ordeal of entering his presence--listening to his voice--knowing I bring him such a burden of woe--spoiling his life for the second time."

She did not hear the door quietly reopen.

"I have heard all that has just pa.s.sed, young lady," said a kind voice close beside her. "I am extremely sorry for you--your case seems a pitiful one. I am sorry my daughter refused to see you; perhaps I can be of some a.s.sistance to you. I am Miss Hurlhurst's father."

CHAPTER x.x.xVII.

For a moment Daisy stood irresolute. "Follow me into my study, and tell me your trouble. You say it concerns my daughter. Perhaps I can advise you."

Ah, yes! he above all others could help her--he was Pluma's father--he could stop the fatal marriage. She would not be obliged to face Rex.

Without another word Daisy turned and followed him. Although Daisy had lived the greater portion of her life at John Brooks' cottage on the Hurlhurst plantation, this was the first time she had ever gazed upon the face of the recluse master of Whitestone Hall. He had spent those years abroad; and poor Daisy's banishment dated from the time the lawn fete had been given in honor of their return.

Daisy glanced shyly up through her veil with a strange feeling of awe at the n.o.ble face, with the deep lines of suffering around the mouth, as he opened his study door, and, with a stately inclination of the head, bade her enter.

"His face is not like Pluma's," she thought, with a strange flutter at her heart. "He looks good and kind. I am sure I can trust him."

Daisy was quite confused as she took the seat he indicated. Mr.

Hurlhurst drew up his arm-chair opposite her, and waited with the utmost patience for her to commence.

She arose and stood before him, clasping her trembling little white hands together supplicatingly. He could not see her face, for she stood in the shadow, and the room was dimly lighted; but he knew that the sweet, pathetic voice was like the sound of silvery bells chiming some half-forgotten strain.

"I have come to tell you this wedding can not--must not--go on to-night!" she cried, excitedly.

Basil Hurlhurst certainly thought the young girl standing before him must be mad.

"I do not understand," he said, slowly, yet gently. "Why do you, a stranger, come to me on my daughter's wedding-night with such words as these? What reason can you offer why this marriage should not proceed?"

He could not tell whether she had heard his words or not, she stood before him so silent, her little hands working nervously together. She looked wistfully into his face, and she drew her slender figure up to its full height, as she replied, in a low, pa.s.sionate, musical voice:

"Mr. Lyon can not marry your daughter, sir, for he has a living wife."

"Mr. Lyon has a wife?" repeated Basil Hurlhurst, literally dumbfounded with amazement. "In Heaven's name, explain yourself!" he cried, rising hastily from his chair and facing her.

The agitation on his face was almost alarming. His grand old face was as white as his linen. His eyes were full of eager, painful suspense and excitement. With a violent effort at self-control he restrained his emotions, sinking back in his arm-chair like one who had received an unexpected blow.

Daisy never remembered in what words she told him the startling truth.

He never interrupted her until she had quite finished.

"You will not blame Rex," she pleaded, her sweet voice choking with emotion; "he believes me dead."

Basil Hurlhurst did not answer; his thoughts were too confused. Yes, it was but too true--the marriage could not go on. He reached hastily toward the bell-rope.

"You will not let my--Rex know until I am far away," she cried, piteously, as she put her marriage certificate in Mr. Hurlhurst's hand.

"I am going to send for Rex to come here at once," he made answer.