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"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.
I have read of it before; it will be a magnificent affair. The husband-to-be, Mr. Rexford Lyon, is very wealthy; and the bride, Miss Pluma Hurlhurst, is quite a society belle a beauty and an heiress."
Did she know Pluma Hurlhurst, the proud, haughty heiress who had stolen her young husband's love from her? the dark, sparkling, willful beauty who had crossed her innocent young life so strangely whom she had seen bending over her husband in the pitying moonlight almost caressing him? She thought she would cry out with the bitterness of the thought. How strange it was!
For Pluma Hurlhurst, after that hour, the sunshine never had the same light, the flowers the same color, her face the same smile, or her heart the same joyousness. Never did "good and evil" fight for a human heart as they struggled in that hour in the heart of the beautiful, willful heiress. All the fire, the passion, and recklessness of her nature were aroused.
On one of the most prosperous plantations in that section of the country there was a great stir of excitement; the master, Basil Hurlhurst, was momentarily expected home with his bride. The negroes in their best attire were scattered in anxious groups here and there, watching eagerly for the first approach of their master's carriage on the white pebbled road.
"Perhaps Heaven knows best," sighed Mrs. "May God grant you may not be too late!" she cried, fervently, clasping the young girl, for the last time, in her arms. Too late! The words sounded like a fatal warning to her. No, no; she could not, she must not, be too late! At the very moment Daisy had left the detective's house, Basil Hurlhurst was closeted with Mr.
"For God's sake, Miss Hurlhurst, what do you mean?" cried Rex, slowly rising from his seat and facing her, pale as death. "In Heaven's name, explain the accusations you have just uttered, or I shall go mad! If a man had uttered those words, I would have " The words died away on his lips; he remembered he was talking to a woman.
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.
Myriads of stars shone like jewels in the blue sky, and not a cloud obscured the face of the clear full moon. Hurlhurst Plantation was ablaze with colored lamps that threw out soft rainbow tints in all directions as far as the eye could reach. The interior of Whitestone Hall was simply dazzling in its rich rose bloom, its lights, its fountains, and rippling music from adjoining ferneries.
On the evening which followed the one just described in our last chapter, Pluma Hurlhurst sat in her luxuriant boudoir of rose and gold, deeply absorbed in the three letters which she held in her lap. To one was appended the name of Septima Brooks, one was from Rex's mother, and the last and by far the most important one bore the signature of Lester Stanwick.
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