"Daisy," said Rex, gently, as he led her away from the lights and the
echoing music out into the starlight that shone with a soft, silvery
radiance over hill and vale, "I shall never forgive myself for being
the cause of the cruel insult you have been forced to endure to-night.
I declare it's a shame. I shall tell Pluma so to-morrow."
"Oh, no--no--please don't, Mr. Rex. I--I--had no right to waltz with
you," sobbed Daisy, "when I knew you were Pluma's lover."
"Don't say that, Daisy," responded Rex, warmly. "I am glad, after all,
everything has happened just as it did, otherwise I should never have
known just how dear a certain little girl had grown to me; besides, I
am not Pluma's lover, and never shall be now."
"You have quarreled with her for my sake," whispered Daisy,
regretfully. "I am so sorry--indeed I am."
Daisy little dreamed, as she watched the deep flush rise to Rex's
face, it was of her he was thinking, and not Pluma, by the words, "a
certain little girl."
Rex saw she did not understand him; he stopped short in the path,
gazing down into those great, dreamy, pleading eyes that affected him
so strangely.
"Daisy," he said, gently, taking her little clinging hands from his
arm, and clasping them in his own, "you must not be startled at what I
am going to tell you. When I met you under the magnolia boughs, I knew
I had met my fate. I said to myself: 'She, and no other, shall be my
wife.'"
"Your wife," she cried, looking at him in alarm. "Please don't say so.
I don't want to be your wife."
"Why not, Daisy?" he asked, quickly.
"Because you are so far above me," sobbed Daisy. "You are so rich, and
I am only poor little Daisy Brooks."
Oh, how soft and beautiful were the eyes swimming in tears and lifted
so timidly to his face! She could not have touched Rex more deeply.
Daisy was his first love, and he loved her from the first moment their
eyes met, with all the strength of his boyish, passionate nature; so
it is not strange that the thought of possessing her, years sooner
than he should have dared hope, made his young blood stir with ecstasy
even though he knew it was wrong.
"Wealth shall be no barrier between us, Daisy," he cried. "What is all
the wealth in the world compared to love? Do not say that again. Love
outweighs everything. Even though you bid me go away and forget you,
Daisy, I could not do it. I can not live without you."
"Do you really love me so much in so short a time?" she asked,
blushingly.
"My love can not be measured by the length of time I have known you,"
he answered, eagerly. "Why, Daisy, the strongest and deepest love men
have ever felt have come to them suddenly, without warning."
The glamour of love was upon him; he could see no faults in pretty
little artless Daisy. True, she had not been educated abroad like
Pluma, but that did not matter; such a lovely rosebud mouth was made
for kisses, not grammar.
Rex stood in suspense beside her, eagerly watching the conflict going
on in the girl's heart.
"Don't refuse me, Daisy," he cried, "give me the right to protect you
forever from the cold world; let us be married to-night. We will keep
it a secret if you say so. You must--you _must_, Daisy, for I can not
give you up."
Rex was so eager, so earnest, so thoroughly the impassioned lover! His
hands were clinging to her own, his dark, handsome face drooped near
hers, his pleading eyes searching her very soul.
Daisy was young, romantic, and impressible; a thousand thoughts rushed
through her brain; it would be so nice to have a young husband to love
her and care for her like Rex, so handsome and so kind; then, too, she
would have plenty of dresses, as fine as Pluma wore, all lace and
puffs; she might have a carriage and ponies, too; and when she rolled
by the little cottage, Septima, who had always been so cruel to her,
would courtesy to _her_, as she did when Pluma, the haughty young
heiress, passed.
The peachy bloom on her cheeks deepened; with Daisy's thoughtless
clinging nature, her craving for love and protection, her implicit
faith in Rex, who had protected her so nobly at the fête--it is not to
be wondered Rex won the day.
Shyly Daisy raised her blue eyes to his face--and he read a shy, sweet
consent that thrilled his very soul.
"You shall never regret this hour, my darling," he cried, then in the
soft silvery twilight he took her to his heart and kissed her
rapturously.
His mother's bitter anger, so sure to follow--the cold, haughty
mother, who never forgot or forgave an injury, and his little sister
Birdie's sorrow were at that moment quite forgotten--even if they had
been remembered they would have weighed as naught compared with his
lovely little Daisy with the golden hair and eyes of blue looking up
at him so trustingly.
Daisy never forgot that walk through the sweet pink clover to the
little chapel on the banks of the lonely river. The crickets chirped
in the long green grass, and the breeze swayed the branches of the
tall leafy trees, rocking the little birds in their nests.
A sudden, swift, terrified look crept up into Daisy's face as they
entered the dim shadowy parlor. Rex took her trembling chilled hands
in his own; if he had not, at that moment, Daisy would have fled from
the room.
"Only a little courage, Daisy," he whispered, "then a life of
happiness."
Then as if in a dream she stood quite still by his side, while the
fatal ceremony went on; in a confused murmur she heard the questions
and responses of her lover, and answered the questions put to her;
then Rex turned to her with a smile and a kiss.
Poor little thoughtless Daisy--it was done--in a moment she had sown
the seeds from which was to spring up a harvest of woe so terrible
that her wildest imagination could not have painted it.
"Are we really married, Rex?" she whispered, as he led her out again
into the starlight; "it seems so much like a dream."
He bent his handsome head and kissed his pretty child-bride. Daisy
drew back with a startled cry--his lips were as cold as ice.
"Yes, you are my very own now," he whispered. "No one shall ever have
the right to scold you again; you are mine now, Daisy, but we must
keep it a secret from every one for awhile, darling. You will do this
for my sake, won't you, Daisy?" he asked. "I am rich, as far as the
world knows, but it was left to me under peculiar conditions. I--I--do
not like to tell you what those conditions were, Daisy."
"Please tell me, Rex," she said, timidly; "you know I am
your--your--wife--now."
Daisy blushed so prettily as she spoke. Rex could not refrain from
catching her up in his arms and kissing her.
"You _shall_ know, my darling," he cried. "The conditions were I
should marry the bride whom my mother selected for me. I was as much
startled as you will be, Daisy, when you hear who it was--Pluma
Hurlhurst, of Whitestone Hall."
"But you can not marry her now, Rex," whispered the little child-bride,
nestling closer in his embrace.
"No; nor I would not if I could. I love you the best, my pretty wild
flower. I would not exchange you, sweet, for all the world. I have
only told you this so you will see why it is necessary to keep our
marriage a secret--for the present, at least."
Daisy readily consented.
"You are very wise, Rex," she said. "I will do just as you tell me."
By this time they had reached Daisy's home.
"I will meet you to-morrow at the magnolia-tree, where first I found
my little wood-nymph, as I shall always call you. Then we can talk
matters over better. You will be sure to come while the dew sparkles
on your pretty namesakes?" he asked, eagerly.
Before she had time to answer the cottage door opened and Septima
appeared in the door-way. Rex was obliged to content himself with
snatching a hasty kiss from the rosy lips. The next moment he was
alone.
He walked slowly back through the tangled brushwood--not to
Whitestone Hall, but to an adjoining hostelry--feeling as though he
were in a new world. True, it _was_ hard to be separated from his
little child-bride. But Rex had a clever brain; he meant to think
of some plan out of the present difficulty. His face flushed and
paled as he thought of his new position; it seemed to him every
one must certainly read in his face he was a young husband.
Meanwhile Daisy flitted quickly up the broad gravel path to the little
cottage, wondering if it were a dream.
"Well!" said Septima, sharply, "this is a pretty time of night to come
dancing home, leaving me all alone with the baking! If I hadn't my
hands full of dough I'd give your ears a sound boxing! I'll see you're
never out after dark again, I'll warrant."
For a moment Daisy's blue eyes blazed, giving way to a roguish smile.
"I wonder what she would say if she knew I was Daisy Brooks no longer,
but Mrs. Rex Lyon?" she thought, untying the blue ribbons of her hat.
And she laughed outright as she thought how amazed Septima would look;
and the laugh sounded like the ripple of a mountain brook.
"Now, Aunt Seppy," coaxed Daisy, slipping up behind her and flinging
her plump little arms around the irate spinster's neck, "please don't
be cross. Indeed I was very particularly detained."
Stptima shook off the clinging arms angrily.
"You can't coax _me_ into upholding you with your soft, purring ways.
I'm not Brother John, to be hoodwinked so easily. Detained! A likely
story!"
"No," laughed Daisy; "but you are dear old Uncle John's sister, and I
could love you for that, if for nothing else. But I really was
detained, though. Where's Uncle John?"
"He's gone to the Hall after you, I reckon. I told him he had better
stop at home--you were like a bad penny, sure to find your way back."
A sudden terror blanched Daisy's face.
"When did he go, Aunt Seppy?" she asked, her heart throbbing so loudly
she was sure Septima would hear it.
"An hour or more ago."
Daisy hastily picked up her hat again.
"Where are you going?" demanded Septima, sharply.
"I--I--am going to meet Uncle John. Please don't stop me," she cried,
darting with the speed of a young gazelle past the hand that was
stretched out to stay her mad flight. "I--I--must go!"