Daisy Brooks; Or, A Perilous Love

by Laura Jean Libbey

  CHAPTER XXXIII.

  We must now return to Daisy, whom we left standing in the heart of theforest, the moonlight streaming on her upturned face, upon which thestartled horseman gazed.

  He had not waited for her to reply, but, touching his horse hastilywith his riding-whip, he sped onward with the speed of the wind.

  In that one instant Daisy had recognized the dark, sinister, handsomeface of Lester Stanwick.

  "They have searched the pit and found I was not there. He is searchingfor me; he has tracked me down!" she cried, vehemently, pressing herlittle white hands to her burning head.

  Faster, faster flew the little feet through the long dew-dampgrasses.

  "My troubles seem closing more darkly around me," she sobbed. "I wishI had never been born, then I could never have spoiled Rex's life. ButI am leaving you, my love, my darling, so you can marry Pluma, theheiress. You will forget me and be happy."

  Poor little, neglected, unloved bride, so fair, so young, so fragile,out alone facing the dark terrors of the night, fleeing from the younghusband who was wearing his life out in grief for her. Ah, if thegentle winds sighing above her, or the solemn, nodding trees had onlytold her, how different her life might have been!

  "No one has ever loved me but poor old Uncle John!" She bent her fairyoung head and cried out to Heaven: "Why has no mercy been shown tome? I have never done one wrong, yet I am so sorely tried. Oh, mother,mother!" she cried, raising her blue eyes up to the starry sky, "ifyou could have foreseen the dark, cruel shadows that would have foldedtheir pitiless wings over the head of your child, would you not havetaken me with you down into the depths of the seething waters?" Sheraised up her white hands pleadingly as though she would fain piercewith her wrongs the blue skies, and reach the great White Throne. "Imust be going mad," she said. "Why did Rex seek me out?" she cried, inanguish. "Why did Heaven let me love him so madly, and my whole lifebe darkened by living apart from him if I am to live? I had no thoughtof suffering and sorrow when I met him that summer morning. Are thesummer days to pass and never bring him? Are the flowers to bloom, thesun to shine, the years to come and go, yet never bring him once tome? I can not bear it--I do not know how to live!"

  If she could only see poor old, faithful John Brooks again she wouldkneel at his feet just as she had done when she was a little child,lay her weary head down on his toil-hardened hand, tell him how shehad suffered, and ask him how she could die and end it all.

  She longed so hungrily for some one to caress her, murmuring tenderwords over her. She could almost hear his voice saying as she toldhim her pitiful story: "Come to my arms, pet, my poor little trampledDaisy! You shall never want for some one to love you while poor oldUncle John lives. Bless your dear little heart!"

  The longing was strongly upon her. No one would recognize her--she_must_ go and see poor old John. She never thought what would becomeof her life after that.

  At the station she asked for a ticket for Allendale. No one seemed toknow of such a place. After a prolonged search on the map the agentdiscovered it to be a little inland station not far from Baltimore.

  "We can sell you a ticket for Baltimore," he said, "and there you canpurchase a ticket for the other road."

  And once again poor little Daisy was whirling rapidly toward the sceneof her first great sorrow.

  Time seemed to slip by her unheeded during all that long, tediousjourney of two nights and a day.

  "Are you going to Baltimore?" asked a gentle-faced lady, who wasstrangely attracted to the beautiful, sorrowful young girl, in whichall hope, life, and sunshine seemed dead.

  "Yes, madame," she made answer, "I change cars there; I am goingfurther."

  The lady was struck by the peculiar mournful cadence of the youngvoice.

  "I beg your pardon for my seeming rudeness," she said, looking longand earnestly at the fair young face; "but you remind me so strangelyof a young school-mate of my youth; you are strangely like what shewas then. We both attended Madame Whitney's seminary. Perhaps you haveheard of the institution; it is a very old and justly famous school."She wondered at the beautiful flush that stole into the girl'sflower-like face--like the soft, faint tinting of a sea-shell. "Shemarried a wealthy planter," pursued the lady, reflectively; "but shedid not live long to enjoy her happy home. One short year after shemarried Evalia Hurlhurst died." The lady never forgot the strangeglance that passed over the girl's face, or the wonderful light thatseemed to break over it. "Why," exclaimed the lady, as if a suddenthought occurred to her, "when you bought your ticket I heard youmention Allendale. That was the home of the Hurlhursts. Is it possibleyou know them? Mr. Hurlhurst is a widower--something of a recluse, andan invalid, I have heard; he has a daughter called Pluma."

  "Yes, madame," Daisy made answer, "I have met Miss Hurlhurst, but nother father."

  How bitterly this stranger's words seemed to mock her! Did she knowPluma Hurlhurst, the proud, haughty heiress who had stolen her younghusband's love from her?--the dark, sparkling, willful beauty who hadcrossed her innocent young life so strangely--whom she had seenbending over _her_ husband in the pitying moonlight almost caressinghim? She thought she would cry out with the bitterness of the thought.How strange it was! The name, Evalia Hurlhurst, seemed to fall uponher ears like the softest, sweetest music. Perhaps she wished she waslike that young wife, who had died so long ago, resting quietlybeneath the white daisies that bore her name.

  "That is Madame Whitney's," exclaimed the lady, leaning forward towardthe window excitedly. "Dear me! I can almost imagine I am a young girlagain. Why, what is the matter, my dear? You look as though you wereabout to faint."

  The train whirled swiftly past--the broad, glittering Chesapeake onone side, and the closely shaven lawn of the seminary on the other. Itwas evidently recess. Young girls were flitting here and there underthe trees, as pretty a picture of happy school life as one would wishto see. It seemed to poor hapless Daisy long ages must have passedsince that morning poor old John Brooks had brought her, a shy,blushing, shrinking country lassie, among those daintily attired,aristocratic maidens, who had laughed at her coy, timid mannerism, andat the clothes poor John wore, and at his flaming red cottonneckerchief.

  She had not much time for further contemplation. The train steamedinto the Baltimore depot, and she felt herself carried along by thesurging crowd that alighted from the train.

  She did not go into the waiting-room; she had quite forgotten she wasnot at the end of her journey.

  She followed the crowds along the bustling street, a solitary,desolate, heart-broken girl, with a weary white face whose beautiful,tender eyes looked in vain among the throngs that passed her by forone kindly face or a sympathetic look.

  Some pushed rudely by her, others looked into the beautiful face withan ugly smile. Handsomely got-up dandies, with fine clothes and nobrains, nodded familiarly as Daisy passed them. Some laughed, andothers scoffed and jeered; but not one--dear Heaven! not one among thevast throng gave her a kindly glance or a word. Occasionally one,warmer hearted than the others, would look sadly on that desolate,beautiful, childish face.

  A low moan she could scarcely repress broke from her lips. Ahandsomely dressed child, who was rolling a hoop in front of her,turned around suddenly and asked her if she was ill.

  "Ill?" She repeated the word with a vague feeling of wonder. What wasphysical pain to the torture that was eating away her young life? Ill?Why, all the illness in the world put together could not cause theanguish she was suffering then--the sting of a broken heart.

  She was not ill--only desolate and forsaken.

  Poor Daisy answered in such a vague manner that she quite frightenedthe child, who hurried away as fast as she could with her hoop,pausing now and then to look back at the white, forlorn face on whichthe sunshine seemed to cast such strange shadows.

  On and on Daisy walked, little heeding which way she went. She sawwhat appeared to be a park on ahead, and there she bent her steps. Theshady seats among the cool green grasses under the le
afy trees lookedinviting. She opened the gate and entered. A sudden sense of dizzinessstole over her, and her breath seemed to come in quick, convulsivegasps.

  "Perhaps God has heard my prayer, Rex, my love," she sighed. "I amsick and weary unto death. Oh, Rex--Rex--"

  The beautiful eyelids fluttered over the soft, blue eyes, and withthat dearly loved name on her lips, the poor little child-bride sunkdown on the cold, hard earth in a death-like swoon.

  "Oh, dear me, Harvey, who in the world is this?" cried a little,pleasant-voiced old lady, who had witnessed the young girl enter thegate, and saw her stagger and fall. In a moment she had fluttered downthe path, and was kneeling by Daisy's side.

  "Come here, Harvey," she called; "it is a young girl; she hasfainted."

  Mr. Harvey Tudor, the celebrated detective, threw away the cigar hehad been smoking, and hastened to his wife's side.

  "Isn't she beautiful?" cried the little lady, in ecstasy. "I wonderwho she is, and what she wanted."

  "She is evidently a stranger, and called to consult me professionally,"responded Mr. Tudor; "she must be brought into the house."

  He lifted the slight, delicate figure in his arms, and bore her intothe house.

  "I am going down to the office now, my dear," he said; "we have someimportant cases to look after this morning. I will take a run up inthe course of an hour or so. If the young girl should recover andwish to see me very particularly, I suppose you will have to send forme. Don't get me away up here unless you find out the case isimperative."

  And with a good-humored nod, the shrewd detective, so quiet anddomesticated at his own fireside, walked quickly down the path to thegate, whistling softly to himself--thinking with a strange, puzzledexpression in his keen blue eyes, of Daisy. Through all of hisbusiness transactions that morning the beautiful, childish face wasstrangely before his mind's eye.

  "Confound it!" he muttered, seizing his hat, "I must hurry home andfind out at once who that pretty little creature is--and what shewants."