One thought only was uppermost in Daisy's mind as she sped swiftly
down the flower-bordered path in the moonlight, away from the husband
who was still so dear to her.
"He did not recognize me," she panted, in a little quivering voice.
"Would he have cursed me, I wonder, had he known it was I?"
Down went the little figure on her knees in the dew-spangled grass
with a sharp little cry.
"Oh, dear, what shall I do?" she cried out in sudden fright. "How
could I know she was his sister when I told her my name?" A twig fell
from the bough above her head brushed by some night-bird's wing. "He
is coming to search for me," she whispered to herself.
A tremor ran over her frame; the color flashed into her cheek and
parted lips, and a startled, wistful brightness crept into the blue
eyes.
Ah! there never could have been a love so sweetly trustful and
child-like as little Daisy's for handsome Rex, her husband in name
only.
Poor, little, innocent Daisy! if she had walked straight back to him,
crying out, "Rex, Rex, see, I am Daisy, your wife!" how much untold
sorrow might have been spared her.
Poor, little, lonely, heart-broken child-bride! how was she to know
Rex had bitterly repented and come back to claim her, alas! too late;
and how he mourned her, refusing to be comforted, and how they forced
him back from the edge of the treacherous shaft lest he should plunge
headlong down the terrible depths. Oh, if she had but known all this!
If Rex had dropped down from the clouds she could not have been more
startled and amazed at finding him in such close proximity away down
in Florida.
She remembered he had spoken to her of his mother, as he clasped her
to his heart out in the starlight of that never-to-be-forgotten night,
whispering to her of the marriage which had been the dearest wish of
his mother's heart.
She remembered how she had hid her happy, rosy, blushing face on his
breast, and asked him if he was quite sure he loved her better than
Pluma Hurlhurst, the haughty, beautiful heiress.
"Yes, my pretty little sweetheart, a thousand times better," he had
replied, emphatically, holding her off at arm's-length, watching the
heightened color that surged over the dainty, dimpled face so plainly
discernible in the white, radiant starlight.
Daisy rested her head on one soft, childish hand, and gazed
thoughtfully up at the cold, brilliant stars that gemmed the heavens
above her.
"Oh, if you had only warned me, little stars!" she said. "I was so
happy then; and now life is so bitter!"
A sudden impulse seized her, strong as her very life, to look upon his
face again.
"I would be content to live my weary life out uncomplainingly then,"
she said.
Without intent or purpose she walked hurriedly back through the
pansy-bordered path she had so lately traversed.
The grand old trees seemed to stretch their giant arms protectingly
over her, as if to ward off all harm.
The night-wind fanned her flushed cheeks and tossed her golden curls
against her wistful, tear-stained face. Noiselessly she crept up the
wide, graveled path that led to his home--the home which should have
been hers.
Was it fancy? She thought she heard Rex's voice crying out: "Daisy, my
darling!" How pitifully her heart thrilled! Dear Heaven! if it had
only been true. It was only the restless murmur of the waves sighing
among the orange-trees.
A light burned dimly in an upper window. Suddenly a shadow fell across
the pale, silken curtains. She knew but too well whose shadow it was;
the proud, graceful poise of the handsome head, and the line of the
dark curls waving over the broad brow, could belong to no one but Rex.
There was no one but the pitying moonlight out there to see how
passionately the poor little child-bride kissed the pale roses on
which that shadow had fallen, and how she broke it from the stem and
placed it close to her beating heart--that lonely, starved little
heart, chilled under the withering frost of neglect, when life, love
and happiness should have been just bursting into bloom for her.
"He said I had spoiled his life," she sighed, leaning her pale face
wearily against the dark-green ivy vines. "He must have meant I had
come between him and Pluma. Will he go back to her, now that he
believes me dead?"
One question alone puzzled her: Had Birdie mentioned her name, and
would he know it was she, whom every one believed lying so cold and
still in the bottomless pit? She could not tell.
"If I could but see Birdie for a moment," she thought, "and beseech
her to keep my secret!"
Birdie had said her brother was soon going away again.
"How could I bear it?" she asked herself, piteously.
It was not in human nature to see the young husband whom she loved so
well drifting so completely away from her and still remain silent. "I
will watch over him from afar; I will be his guardian angel; I must
remain as one dead to him forever," she told herself.
Afar off, over the dancing, moonlighted waters she saw a pleasure-boat
gliding swiftly over the rippling waves. She could hear their merry
laughter and gay, happy voices, and snatches of mirthful songs.
Suddenly the band struck up an old, familiar strain. Poor little Daisy
leaned her head against the iron railing of the porch and listened to
those cruel words--the piece that they played was "Love's Young
Dream."
Love's young dream! Ah! how cruelly hers had ended! She looked up at
the white, fleecy clouds above her, vaguely wondering why the love of
one person made the earth a very paradise, or a wilderness. As the
gay, joyous music floated up to her the words of the poet found echo
in her heart in a passionate appeal:
"No one could tell, for nobody knew,
Why love was made to gladden a few;
And hearts that would forever be true,
Go lone and starved the whole way through,"
Oh, it was such a blessed relief to her to watch that shadow. Rex was
pacing up and down the room now, his arms folded and his head bent on
his breast. Poor, patient little Daisy, watching alone out in the
starlight, was wondering if he was thinking of her.
No thought occurred to her of being discovered there with her arms
clasped around that marble pillar watching so intently the shadow of
that graceful, manly figure pacing to and fro.
No thought occurred to her that a strange event was at that moment
transpiring within those walls, or that something unusual was about to
happen.
How she longed to look upon his face for just one brief moment!
Estrangement had not chilled her trusting love, it had increased it,
rather, tenfold.
Surely it was not wrong to gaze upon that shadow--he was her husband.
In that one moment a wild, bitter thought swept across her heart.
Did Rex regret their marriage because she was poor, friendless, and an
orphan? Would it have been different if she had been the heiress of
Whitestone Hall?
She pitied herself for her utter loneliness. There was no one to whom
she could say one word of all that filled her heart and mind, no face
to kiss, no heart to lean on; she was so completely alone. And this
was the hour her fate was being decided for her. There was no sympathy
for her, her isolation was bitter. She thought of all the heroines she
had ever read of. Ah, no one could picture such a sad fate as was
hers.
A bright thought flashed across her lonely little heart.
"His mother is there," she sighed. "Ah, if I were to go to her and cry
out: 'Love me, love me! I am your son's wife!' would she cast me from
her? Ah, no, surely not; a woman's gentle heart beats in her breast, a
woman's tender pity. I will plead with her on my knees--to comfort
me--to show me some path out of the pitiful darkness; I can love her
because she is his mother."
Daisy drew her breath quickly; the color glowed warmly on her cheek
and lips; she wondered she had not thought of it before. Poor child!
she meant to tell her all, and throw herself upon her mercy.
Her pretty, soft blue eyes, tender with the light of love, were
swimming with tears. A vain hope was struggling in her heart--Rex's
mother might love her, because she worshiped her only son so dearly.
Would she send her forth from that home that should have sheltered
her, or would she clasp those little cold fingers in Rex's strong
white ones, as she explained to him, as only a mother can, how sadly
he had misjudged poor little Daisy--his wife?
No wonder her heart throbbed pitifully as she stole silently
across the wide, shadowy porch, and, quivering from head to foot,
touched the bell that echoed with a resounding sound through the long
entrance-hall.
"I would like to see Mrs. Lyon," she said, hesitatingly, to the
servant who answered her summons. "Please do not refuse me," she said,
clasping her little white hands pleadingly. "I must see her at once.
It is a question of life or death with me. Oh, sir, please do not
refuse me. I must see her at once--and--all alone!"