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"Too hard, indeed; that's just like you men; no feeling for your poor, overworked sister, so long as that girl has an easy life of it. It was a sorry day for me when your aunt Taiza died, leaving this girl to our care."
I questioned her, and she answered she had lived with Taiza Burt, but her name was Daisy Brooks." "It is a lie a base, ingenious lie!" shrieked Pluma. "Daisy Brooks the heiress of Whitestone Hall! Even if it were true," she cried, exultingly, "she will never reign here, the mistress of Whitestone Hall. She is dead."
I hated him yes, hated him, for I had seen another young, gay and handsome whom I might have won had it not been for the chains which bound me. He was a handsome, debonair college fellow, as rich as he was handsome. This was Basil Hurlhurst, the planter's only son and heir. Our meeting was romantic. I had driven over to the village in which the college was situated, on an errand for Taiza.
They are soon told: Years ago, when I was young and fair as you are now, I lived at the home of a quiet, well-to-do spinster, Taiza Burt. She had a nephew, an honest, well-to-do young fellow, who worshiped me, much to the chagrin of his aunt; and out of pique one day I married him. I did not love the honest-hearted fellow, and I lived with him but a few brief months.
How he came in that locality I do not know. I found, by some strange freak of fate, he had taken the child home to his aunt Taiza, and there the little one remained until the spinster died. "Again, a few years later, I determined to visit Whitestone Hall, when a startling and unexpected surprise presented itself. Since then I have believed in fate.
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