CHAPTER XXXIX.
At the self-same moment that the scene just described was beingenacted in the study Rex Lyon was pacing to and fro in his room,waiting for the summons of Pluma to join the bridal-party in thecorridor and adjourn to the parlors below, where the guests and theminister awaited them.
He walked toward the window and drew aside the heavy curtains. Thestorm was beating against the window-pane as he leaned his feverishface against the cool glass, gazing out into the impenetrable darknesswithout.
Try as he would to feel reconciled to his marriage he could not do it.How could he promise at the altar to love, honor, and cherish the wifewhom he was about to wed?
He might honor and cherish her, but love her he could not, no matterfor all the promises he might make. The power of loving was directedfrom Heaven above--it was not for mortals to accept or reject atwill.
His heart seemed to cling with a strange restlessness to Daisy, thefair little child-bride, whom he had loved so passionately--his firstand only love, sweet little Daisy!
From the breast-pocket of his coat he took the cluster of daisies hehad gone through the storm on his wedding-night to gather. He waswaiting until the monument should arrive before he could gathercourage to tell Pluma the sorrowful story of his love-dream.
All at once he remembered the letter a stranger had handed him outsideof the entrance gate. He had not thought much about the matter untilnow. Mechanically he picked it up from the mantel, where he had tossedit upon entering the room, glancing carelessly at the superscription.His countenance changed when he saw it; his lips trembled, and a hard,bitter light crept into his brown eyes. He remembered the chirographybut too well.
"From Stanwick!" he cried, leaning heavily against the mantel.
Rex read the letter through with a burning flush on his face, whichgrew white as with the pallor of death as he read; a dark mist wasbefore his eyes, the sound of surging waters in his ears.
"OLD COLLEGE CHUM,"--it began,--"For the sake of those happy hours ofour school-days, you will please favor me by reading what I havewritten to the end.
"If you love Pluma Hurlhurst better than your sense of honor thisletter is of no avail. I can not see you drifting on to ruin withoutlonging to save you. You have been cleverly caught in the net thescheming heiress has set for you. It is certainly evident she lovesyou with a love which is certainly a perilous one. There is not muchsafety in the fierce, passionate love of a desperate, jealous woman.You will pardon me for believing at one time your heart was elsewhere.You will wonder why I refer to that; it will surprise you to learn,that one subject forms the basis of this letter. I refer to littleDaisy Brooks.
"You remember the night you saw little Daisy home, burning withindignation at the cut direct--which Pluma had subjected the prettylittle fairy to? I simply recall that fact, as upon that event hangsthe terrible sequel which I free my conscience by unfolding. You hadscarcely left the Hall ere Pluma called me to her side.
"'Do not leave me, Lester,' she said; 'I want to see you; remain untilafter all the guests have left.'
"I did so. You have read the lines:
"'Heaven has no rage like love to hatred turned, Nor hell a fury like a woman scorned'?
"They were too truly exemplified in the case of Pluma Hurlhurst whenshe found you preferred little golden-haired Daisy Brooks to her ownpeerless self. 'What shall I do, Lester,' she cried, 'to strike hisheart? What shall I do to humble his mighty pride as he has humbledmine?' Heaven knows, old boy, I am ashamed to admit the shamefultruth. I rather enjoyed the situation of affairs. 'My love is turnedto hate!' she cried, vehemently. 'I must strike him through his lovefor that little pink-and-white baby-faced creature he is so madlyinfatuated with. Remove her from his path, Lester,' she cried, 'and Ishall make it worth your while. You asked me once if I would marryyou. I answer _now_: remove that girl from his path, by fair means orfoul, and I give you my hand as the reward, I, the heiress ofWhitestone Hall.'
"She knew the temptation was dazzling. For long hours we talked thematter over. She was to furnish money to send the girl to school, fromwhich I was shortly to abduct her. She little cared what happened thelittle fair-haired creature. Before I had time to carry out the designfate drifted her into my hands. I rescued her, at the risk of my ownlife, from a watery grave. I gave out she was my wife, that the affairmight reach your ears, and you would believe the child willfullyeloped with me. I swear to you no impure thought ever crossed thatchild's brain. I gave her a very satisfactory explanation as to why Ihad started so false a report. In her innocence--it seemedplausible--she did not contradict my words.
"Then you came upon the scene, charging her with the report anddemanding to know the truth.
"At that moment she saw the affair in its true light. Heaven knows shewas as pure as a spotless lily; but appearances were sadly against thechild, simply because she had not contradicted the report that I hadcirculated--that she was my wife. Her lips were dumb at the meresuspicion you hurled against her, and she could not plead with you forvery horror and amazement.
"When you left her she was stricken with a fever that was said to havecost her her life. She disappeared from sight, and it was said she hadthrown herself into the pit.
"I give you this last and final statement in all truth. I was hauntedday and night by her sad, pitiful face; it almost drove me mad withremorse, and to ease my mind I had the shaft searched a week ago, andlearned the startling fact--it revealed no trace of her ever havingbeen there.
"The shaft does not contain the remains of Daisy Brooks, and Isolemnly affirm (although I have no clew to substantiate the belief)that Daisy Brooks is not dead, but living, and Pluma Hurlhurst's soulis not dyed with the blood which she would not have hesitated to shedto remove an innocent rival from her path. I do not hold myselfguiltless, still the planner of a crime is far more guilty than thetool who does the work in hope of reward.
"The heiress of Whitestone Hall has played me false, take to yourheart your fair, blushing bride, but remember hers is a perilouslove."
* * * * *
The letter contained much more, explaining each incident in detail,but Rex had caught at one hope, as a drowning man catches at a straw.
"Merciful Heaven!" he cried, his heart beating loud and fast. "Was itnot a cruel jest to frighten him on his wedding-eve? Daisy alive! Oh,just Heaven, if it could only be true!" He drew his breath, with along, quivering sigh, at the bare possibility. "Little Daisy was aspure in thought, word and deed as an angel. God pity me!" he cried."Have patience with me for my harshness toward my little love. I didnot give my little love even the chance of explaining the situation,"he groaned. Then his thoughts went back to Pluma.
He could not doubt the truth of the statement Stanwick offered, andthe absolute proofs of its sincerity. He could not curse her for herhorrible deceit, because his mother had loved her so, and it was donethrough her blinding, passionate love for him; and he buried his facein his hands, and wept bitterly. It was all clear as noonday to himnow why Daisy had not kept the tryst under the magnolia-tree, and thecottage was empty. She must certainly have attempted to make herescape from the school in which they placed her to come back to hisarms.
"Oh, dupe that I have been!" he moaned. "Oh, my sweet little innocentdarling!" he cried. "I dare not hope Heaven has spared you to me!"
Now he understood why he had felt such a terrible aversion to Plumaall along. She had separated him from his beautiful, golden-hairedchild-bride.
His eyes rested on the certificate which bore Pluma's name, also hisown. He tore it into a thousand shreds.
"It is all over between us now," he cried. "Even if Daisy were dead, Icould never take the viper to my bosom that has dealt me such adeath-stinging blow. If living, I shall search the world over till Ifind her; if dead, I shall consecrate my life to the memory of mydarling, my pure, little, injured _only_ love."
He heard a low rap at the door. The servant never fo
rgot the youngman's haggard, hopeless face as he delivered Basil Hurlhurst'smessage.
"Ah, it is better so," cried Rex to himself, vehemently, as the mansilently and wonderingly closed the door. "I will go to him at once,and tell him I shall never marry his daughter. Heaven help me! I willtell him all."
Hastily catching up the letter, Rex walked, with a firm, quick tread,toward the study, in which the strangest tragedy which was everenacted was about to transpire.
* * * * *
"I am your mother, Pluma," repeated the woman, slowly. "Look into myface, and you will see every lineament of your own mirrored there. Butfor me you would never have enjoyed the luxuries of Whitestone Hall,and this is the way you repay me! Is there no natural instinct in yourheart that tells you you are standing in your mother's presence?"
"Every instinct in my heart tells me you are a vile impostor, woman. Iwonder that you dare intimate such a thing. You are certainly anescaped lunatic. My mother was lost at sea long years ago."
"So every one believed. But my very presence here is proof positivesuch was not the case."
Pluma tried to speak, but no sound issued from her white lips. Thevery tone of the woman's voice carried positive conviction with it. Adim realization was stealing over her that this woman's face, and thepeculiar tone of her voice, were strangely mixed up with her childhooddreams; and, try as she would to scoff at the idea, it seemed to begaining strength with every moment.
"You do not believe me, I see," pursued the woman, calmly. "There isnothing but the stern facts that will satisfy you. You shall havethem. They are soon told: Years ago, when I was young and fair as youare now, I lived at the home of a quiet, well-to-do spinster, TaizaBurt. She had a nephew, an honest, well-to-do young fellow, whoworshiped me, much to the chagrin of his aunt; and out of pique oneday I married him. I did not love the honest-hearted fellow, and Ilived with him but a few brief months. I hated him--yes, hated him,for I had seen another--young, gay and handsome--whom I might have wonhad it not been for the chains which bound me. He was a handsome,debonair college fellow, as rich as he was handsome. This was BasilHurlhurst, the planter's only son and heir. Our meeting was romantic.I had driven over to the village in which the college was situated, onan errand for Taiza. Basil met me driving through the park. He wasyoung, reckless and impulsive. He loved me, and the knowledge of hiswealth dazzled me. I did not tell him I was a wife, and therecommenced my first sin. My extreme youth and ignorance of the worldmust plead for me--my husband or the world would never know of it. Ilistened to his pleading, and married him--that is, we went throughthe ceremony. He had perfect faith in its sincerity. I alone knew theguilty truth. Yet enormous as was my crime, I had but a dimrealization of it.
"For one brief week I was dazzled with the wealth and jewels helavished upon me; but my conscience would not let me rest when Ithought of my honest-hearted husband, from whom I had fled and whom Ihad so cruelly deceived.
"My love for Basil was short lived; I was too reckless to care muchfor any one. My conscience bade me fly from him. I gathered up whatmoney and jewels I could, and fled. A few months after you were born;and I swear to you, by the proofs I can bring you, beyond all shadowof a doubt, you were my lawful husband's child, not Basil's.
"Soon after this event a daring thought came to me. I could presentyou, ere long, with myself, at Whitestone Hall. Basil Hurlhurst wouldnever know the deception practiced upon him; and you, the child ofhumble parentage, should enjoy and inherit his vast wealth. My boldplan was successful. We had a stormy interview, and it never occurredto him there could be the least deception--that I was not his lawfulwife, or you his child.
"I found Basil had learned to despise even more fiercely than he hadever loved me.
"He took us abroad, refusing to speak or look upon my face, eventhough he escorted us. In a fit of desperation I threw myself into thesea, but I was rescued by another vessel. A strong inclination seizedme to again visit Whitestone Hall and see what disposition he had madeof you. Years had passed; you were then a child of five years.
"One terrible stormy night--as bad a night as this one--I made my wayto the Hall. It was brilliantly lighted up, just as it is to-night.
"I saw the gate was locked; and through the flashes of lightning I sawa little girl sobbing wildly, flung face downward in the grass,heedless of the storm.
"I knew you, and called you to me. I questioned you as to why thehouse was lighted, and learned the truth. Basil Hurlhurst hadremarried; he had been abroad with his wife, and to-night he wasbringing home his young wife.
"My rage knew no bounds. I commanded you to bring me the key of thegate. You obeyed. That night a little golden-haired child was born atWhitestone Hall, and I knew it would live to divide the honors andwealth of Whitestone Hall with you--my child.
"The thought maddened me. I stole the child from its mother's arms,and fled. I expected to see the papers full of the terrible deed, orto hear you had betrayed me, a stranger, wanting the key of thegate."
"My surprise knew no bounds when I found it was given out the childhad died, and was buried with its young mother. I never understood whyBasil Hurlhurst did not attempt to recover his child.
"I took the child far from here, placing it in a basket on the riverbrink, with a note pinned to it saying that I, the mother, had sinnedand had sought a watery grave beneath the waves. I screened myself,and watched to see what would become of the child, as I saw a man'sform approaching in the distance.
"I fairly caught my breath as he drew near. I saw it was my ownhusband, whom I had so cruelly deserted years ago--your father, Pluma,who never even knew or dreamed of your existence.
"Carefully he lifted the basket and the sleeping babe. How he came inthat 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 littleone remained until the spinster died.
"Again, a few years later, I determined to visit Whitestone Hall, whena startling and unexpected surprise presented itself. Since then Ihave believed in fate. All unconscious of the strange manner in whichthese two men's lives had crossed each other, I found Basil Hurlhursthad engaged my own husband, and your father, John Brooks, for hisoverseer."
Pluma gave a terrible cry, but the woman did not heed her.
"I dared not betray my identity then, but fled quickly from WhitestoneHall; for I knew, if all came to light, it would be proved without adoubt you were not the heiress of Whitestone Hall.
"I saw a young girl, blue-eyed and golden-haired, singing like a larkin the fields. One glance at her face, and I knew she was BasilHurlhurst's stolen child fate had brought directly to her father'shome. I questioned her, and she answered she had lived with TaizaBurt, but her name was Daisy Brooks."
"It is a lie--a base, ingenious lie!" shrieked Pluma. "Daisy Brooksthe heiress of Whitestone Hall! Even if it were true," she cried,exultingly, "she will never reign here, the mistress of WhitestoneHall. She is dead."
"Not exactly!" cried a ringing voice from the rear; and before the twowomen could comprehend the situation, the detective sprung through thesilken curtains, placing his back firmly against the door. "You havelaid a deep scheme, with a cruel vengeance; but your own weapons areturned against you. Bring your daughter forward, Mr. Hurlhurst. Yourpresence is also needed, Mr. Brooks," he called.