"I say you shall not," cried Septima, planting herself firmly before
her. "You shall not leave this house to-night."
"You have no right to keep me here," panted Daisy. "I am--I am--" The
words died away on her lips. Rex had told her she must not tell just
yet.
"You are a rash little fool," cried Septima, wrathfully. "You are the
bane of my life, and have been ever since that stormy winter night
John brought you here. I told him then to wash his hands of the whole
matter; you would grow up a willful, impetuous minx, and turn out at
last like your mother."
Daisy sprung to her feet like lightning, her velvet eyes blazing, her
breath coming quick and hot.
"Speak of me as lightly as you will, Aunt Septima," she cried, "but
you must spare my poor mother's name! Oh, mother, mother!" she cried,
flinging herself down on her knees, and sobbing piteously, "if you had
only taken me with you, down into the dark cruel waters!"
"I only wish to Heaven she had!" fervently ejaculated Septima.
At that moment a quick, hurried step sounded on the gravel path
without, and John Brooks hastily entered the room.
"Ah! thank God! here you are, Daisy. I was over at the Hall for you,
and they told me you had left some hours before. I knew you had not
been home, and I was sorely afraid something had happened you."
Ah! how little he knew! Something had happened to her, the darkest and
cruelest shadow that had ever darkened a girl's life was slowly
gathering above her innocent head, and was soon to break, carrying in
its turbulent depths a sorrow more bitter than death to bear.
John Brooks glanced inquiringly from the one to the other, intuitively
guessing he must have interrupted a scene.
Daisy had struggled up from her knees to a sitting posture, putting
her hair, curled into a thousand shining rings, away from her flushed
face.
"Have you been scolding Daisy again, Septima?" he asked, angrily,
taking the panting little damsel from the floor and seating her upon
his knee, and drawing her curly head down to his rough-clad shoulder,
and holding it there with his toil-hardened hand. "What have you been
saying to my little Daisy that I find her in tears?"
"I was telling her if she did not mend her willful ways she might turn
out like her moth--"
"Hush!" exclaimed John Brooks, excitedly. "I shouldn't have thought
you would have dared say that. What does Daisy know of such things?"
he muttered, indignantly. "Don't let your senses run away with you,
Septima."
"Don't let your senses run away with you, John Brooks. Haven't you the
sense to know Daisy is getting too big for you to take on your knee
and pet in that fashion? I am really ashamed of you. Daisy is almost a
woman!" snapped Septima, scornfully--"quite sixteen."
John Brooks looked at his sister in amazement, holding little Daisy
off and gazing into the sweet little blooming face, and stroking the
long fluffy golden curls as he replied:
"Ah, no, Septima; Daisy is only a child. Why, it seems as though
it were but yesterday I used to take her with me through the
cotton-fields, and laugh to see her stretch her chubby hands up,
crying for the bursting blossoms, growing high above her curly
golden head. Pshaw! Septima, Daisy is only a merry, frolicsome,
romantic child yet."
Daisy nestled her tell-tale face closer on his broad shoulder to hide
the swift blushes that crept up to cheek and brow.
"Look up, pet," he said, coaxingly, "I have news for you."
"What--what is it?" gasped Daisy, wondering if he could possibly have
heard of her romantic marriage with Rex, turning white to the very
lips, her blue eyes darkening with suspense.
"Come, come, now," laughed, John, good-humoredly, "don't get excited,
pet, it will take me just as long to tell it anyhow; it is something
that will please you immensely."
He drew from his breast pocket as he spoke a thick, yellow envelope,
which contained several printed forms with blank spaces which were to
be filled up. There was something in his voice which made Daisy look
at him, but her eyes fell and her cheeks flushed hotly as she met his
glance.
Daisy was not used to keeping a secret locked up in her truthful
little heart. She longed to throw her arms around his neck and whisper
to him of her mad, romantic marriage, and of the handsome young
husband who loved her so fondly.
Daisy knew so little of real life, and less of love and marriage, up
to the time she had met Rex! Her heroes had been imaginary ones, her
ideas of love only girlish, romantic fancies. It was all very
exciting and charming. She was very fond of handsome Rex, but she had
yet to learn the depths of love which, sooner or later, brightens the
lives of lovable women.
Daisy looked at the envelope with a wistful glance.
"I am going to make a lady of you, my little sunbeam. I am going to
send you off to boarding-school. That's what you have always wanted;
now I am going to humor your whim."
"But I--I do not want to go now, Uncle John. I--I have changed my
mind."
"What!"
"I--I don't want to go off to boarding-school now. I had rather stay
here with you."
John Brooks laid down the pipe he was just lighting in genuine
surprise.
"Why, it's only last week you were crying those pretty eyes of yours
out, teasing to be sent to school. I--well, confound it--I don't
understand the ways of women. I always thought you were different from
the rest, little Daisy, but I see you are all the same. Never two days
of the same mind. What is the reason you've changed your mind, pet?"
"Indeed, I don't want to go now, Uncle John. Please don't talk about
it any more. I--I am happier here than I can tell you."
John Brooks laughed cheerily.
"It's too late for you to change your mind now, little one. I have
made arrangements for you to start bright and early to-morrow morning.
The stage will be here by daylight, so you had better start off to bed
at once, or there will be no roses in these checks to-morrow."
He never forgot the expression of the white, startled face Daisy
raised to his. For once in her life Daisy was unable to shake him from
his purpose.
"I know best, little one," he said. "I mean to make a lady of you. You
have no fortune, little Daisy, but your pretty face. It will be hard
to lose my little sunbeam, but it is my duty, Daisy. It is too late to
back out now; for once I am firm. You must start to-morrow morning."
"Oh, dear, oh, dear!" sobbed Daisy, throwing herself down on her
little white bed when she had reached her own room, "what shall I do?
I can't go without seeing Rex. I never heard of a girl that was
married being sent off to school. I--I dare not tell Uncle John I am
somebody's wife. Oh, if I could only see Rex!" Daisy springs out of
bed and crosses over to the little white curtained window, gazing out
into the still calm beauty of the night. "If I only knew where to
find Rex," she mused, "I would go to him now. Surely he would not let
me be sent away from him." She turned away from the window with a
sigh. "I must see Rex to-morrow morning," she said, determinedly. And
the weary little golden head, tired out with the day which had just
died out, sunk restfully down upon the snowy pillow in a dreamless
sleep, the happiest, alas! that poor little girl-bride was to know for
long and weary years.
A dark, dreamy silence wraps the cottage in its soft embrace, the
moon, clear and full, sails tranquilly through the star-sown heavens,
and the sweet scent of distant orange groves is wafted through the
midnight breeze. Yet the dark-cloaked figure that walks quickly and
softly up the graveled walk sees none of the soft, calm beauty of the
still summer night. She raises the brass knocker with a quick,
imperative touch. After a wait of perhaps ten minutes or so Septima
answers the summons, but the candle she holds nearly drops from her
hands as she beholds the face of her midnight visitor in the dim,
uncertain flickering glare of the candle-light.
"Miss Pluma," she exclaims, in amazement, "is there any one ill at the
Hall?"
"No!" replies Pluma, in a low, soft, guarded whisper. "I wished to see
you--my business is most important--may I come in?"
"Certainly," answered Septima, awkwardly. "I beg your pardon, miss,
for keeping you standing outside so long."
As Pluma took the seat Septima placed for her, the dark cloak she wore
fell from her shoulders, and Septima saw with wonder she still wore
the shimmering silk she had in all probability worn at the fête. The
rubies still glowed like restless, leaping fire upon her perfect arms
and snowy throat, and sprays of hyacinth were still twined in her
dark, glossy hair; but they were quite faded now, drooping, crushed,
and limp among her curls; there was a strange dead-white pallor on her
haughty face, and a lurid gleam shone in her dark, slumbrous eyes.
Pluma had studied well the character of the woman before her--who made
no secret of her dislike for the child thrust upon their bounty--and
readily imagined she would willingly aid her in carrying out the
scheme she had planned.
Slowly one by one the stars died out of the sky; the pale moon drifted
silently behind the heavy rolling clouds; the winds tossed the tops of
the tall trees to and fro, and the dense darkness which precedes the
breaking of the gray dawn settled over the earth.
The ponies which the groom had held for long hours pawed the ground
restlessly; the man himself was growing impatient.
"She can be up to no good," he muttered; "all honest people should be
in their beds."
The door of the cottage opened, and Pluma Hurlhurst walked slowly down
the path.
"All is fair in love's warfare," she mutters, triumphantly. "Fool!
with your baby face and golden hair, you shall walk quickly into the
net I have spread for you; he shall despise you. Ay, crush with his
heel into the earth the very flowers that bear the name of _Daisy_."