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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 am master of Whitestone Hall yet, and while I live I shall have things my own way. After I die you can turn it into a pandemonium, for all I care." Pluma flashed her large dark eyes upon him surprisedly, beginning to lose her temper, spurred on by opposition.
After sealing and directing her precious letter, and placing it in the letter-bag which hung at the lower end of the corridor, Daisy hurried back to her own apartment and crept softly into her little white bed, beside Sara, and was soon fast asleep, dreaming of Rex and a dark, haughty, scornful face falling between them and the sunshine the cold, mocking face of Pluma Hurlhurst. Mme.
"I thought Whitestone Hall especially guarded against thieves," she said, steadily. "You seem to be a desperate woman; but I, Pluma Hurlhurst, do not fear you. We will pass over the remarks you have just uttered as simply beyond discussion." With a swift, gliding motion she attempted to reach the bell-rope. Again the woman intercepted her.
While Pluma, the wealthy heiress, awaited his coming so eagerly, Rex Lyon was standing, quite lost in thought, beside a rippling fountain in one of the most remote parts of the lawn, thinking of Daisy Brooks. He had seen a fair face that was all a face that embodied his dream of loveliness, and without thinking of it found his fate, and the whole world seemed changed for him.
"It is a pretty title," she said, in her low, musical voice, "'Daisies Growing o'er my Darling's Grave." In the terrible look of agony that swept over his handsome face, Pluma read the secret of his life; the one secret she had dreaded stood as clearly revealed to her as though it had been stamped in glowing letters upon his brow.
Miss Raynor made some laughing rejoinder which Pluma, white and trembling behind the ivy vines, did not catch, and still discussing the affair, they moved on, leaving Pluma Hurlhurst standing alone, face to face with the truth, which she had hoped against hope was false. Rex, who was so soon to be her husband, was certainly not her lover.
"Not an instant," cried Pluma, scornfully; "shut the door, Marie, and send that person from the house." "Oh, what shall I do!" cried Daisy, wringing her hands. "I am driven to the very verge of madness! Heaven pity me the bitter consequence must fall upon your own head." She turned away with a low, bitter cry, as the maid slammed the heavy oaken door in her face.
When it arrived he meant to take Pluma there, and, reverently kneeling down before her, tell her all the story of his sweet, sad love-dream with his face pressed close against the cold, pulseless marble tell her of the love-dream which had left him but the ashes of dead hope. He sealed the letter and placed it with the out-going morning mail.
Stanwick has been to me." The three sisters looked at one another in silent wonder over the rims of their spectacles and shook their heads ominously. Dear reader, we must return at this period to Rex poor, broken-hearted Rex whom we left in the company of Pluma Hurlhurst in the spacious parlor of Whitestone Hall. "Daisy Brooks is at this moment with Lester Stanwick!
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