CHAPTER V.
"I say you shall not," cried Septima, planting herself firmly beforeher. "You shall not leave this house to-night."
"You have no right to keep me here," panted Daisy. "I am--I am--" Thewords died away on her lips. Rex had told her she must not tell justyet.
"You are a rash little fool," cried Septima, wrathfully. "You are thebane of my life, and have been ever since that stormy winter nightJohn brought you here. I told him then to wash his hands of the wholematter; you would grow up a willful, impetuous minx, and turn out atlast like your mother."
Daisy sprung to her feet like lightning, her velvet eyes blazing, herbreath coming quick and hot.
"Speak of me as lightly as you will, Aunt Septima," she cried, "butyou must spare my poor mother's name! Oh, mother, mother!" she cried,flinging herself down on her knees, and sobbing piteously, "if you hadonly taken me with you, down into the dark cruel waters!"
"I only wish to Heaven she had!" fervently ejaculated Septima.
At that moment a quick, hurried step sounded on the gravel pathwithout, and John Brooks hastily entered the room.
"Ah! thank God! here you are, Daisy. I was over at the Hall for you,and they told me you had left some hours before. I knew you had notbeen home, and I was sorely afraid something had happened you."
Ah! how little he knew! Something had happened to her, the darkest andcruelest shadow that had ever darkened a girl's life was slowlygathering above her innocent head, and was soon to break, carrying inits turbulent depths a sorrow more bitter than death to bear.
John Brooks glanced inquiringly from the one to the other, intuitivelyguessing he must have interrupted a scene.
Daisy had struggled up from her knees to a sitting posture, puttingher hair, curled into a thousand shining rings, away from her flushedface.
"Have you been scolding Daisy again, Septima?" he asked, angrily,taking the panting little damsel from the floor and seating her uponhis knee, and drawing her curly head down to his rough-clad shoulder,and holding it there with his toil-hardened hand. "What have you beensaying to my little Daisy that I find her in tears?"
"I was telling her if she did not mend her willful ways she might turnout like her moth--"
"Hush!" exclaimed John Brooks, excitedly. "I shouldn't have thoughtyou would have dared say that. What does Daisy know of such things?"he muttered, indignantly. "Don't let your senses run away with you,Septima."
"Don't let your senses run away with you, John Brooks. Haven't you thesense to know Daisy is getting too big for you to take on your kneeand pet in that fashion? I am really ashamed of you. Daisy is almost awoman!" snapped Septima, scornfully--"quite sixteen."
John Brooks looked at his sister in amazement, holding little Daisyoff and gazing into the sweet little blooming face, and stroking thelong fluffy golden curls as he replied:
"Ah, no, Septima; Daisy is only a child. Why, it seems as thoughit were but yesterday I used to take her with me through thecotton-fields, and laugh to see her stretch her chubby hands up,crying for the bursting blossoms, growing high above her curlygolden head. Pshaw! Septima, Daisy is only a merry, frolicsome,romantic child yet."
Daisy nestled her tell-tale face closer on his broad shoulder to hidethe swift blushes that crept up to cheek and brow.
"Look up, pet," he said, coaxingly, "I have news for you."
"What--what is it?" gasped Daisy, wondering if he could possibly haveheard of her romantic marriage with Rex, turning white to the verylips, her blue eyes darkening with suspense.
"Come, come, now," laughed, John, good-humoredly, "don't get excited,pet, it will take me just as long to tell it anyhow; it is somethingthat will please you immensely."
He drew from his breast pocket as he spoke a thick, yellow envelope,which contained several printed forms with blank spaces which were tobe filled up. There was something in his voice which made Daisy lookat him, but her eyes fell and her cheeks flushed hotly as she met hisglance.
Daisy was not used to keeping a secret locked up in her truthfullittle heart. She longed to throw her arms around his neck and whisperto him of her mad, romantic marriage, and of the handsome younghusband who loved her so fondly.
Daisy knew so little of real life, and less of love and marriage, upto the time she had met Rex! Her heroes had been imaginary ones, herideas of love only girlish, romantic fancies. It was all veryexciting and charming. She was very fond of handsome Rex, but she hadyet to learn the depths of love which, sooner or later, brightens thelives of lovable women.
Daisy looked at the envelope with a wistful glance.
"I am going to make a lady of you, my little sunbeam. I am going tosend you off to boarding-school. That's what you have always wanted;now I am going to humor your whim."
"But I--I do not want to go now, Uncle John. I--I have changed mymind."
"What!"
"I--I don't want to go off to boarding-school now. I had rather stayhere with you."
John Brooks laid down the pipe he was just lighting in genuinesurprise.
"Why, it's only last week you were crying those pretty eyes of yoursout, teasing to be sent to school. I--well, confound it--I don'tunderstand the ways of women. I always thought you were different fromthe rest, little Daisy, but I see you are all the same. Never two daysof the same mind. What is the reason you've changed your mind, pet?"
"Indeed, I don't want to go now, Uncle John. Please don't talk aboutit any more. I--I am happier here than I can tell you."
John Brooks laughed cheerily.
"It's too late for you to change your mind now, little one. I havemade arrangements for you to start bright and early to-morrow morning.The stage will be here by daylight, so you had better start off to bedat once, or there will be no roses in these checks to-morrow."
He never forgot the expression of the white, startled face Daisyraised to his. For once in her life Daisy was unable to shake him fromhis purpose.
"I know best, little one," he said. "I mean to make a lady of you. Youhave no fortune, little Daisy, but your pretty face. It will be hardto lose my little sunbeam, but it is my duty, Daisy. It is too late toback out now; for once I am firm. You must start to-morrow morning."
"Oh, dear, oh, dear!" sobbed Daisy, throwing herself down on herlittle white bed when she had reached her own room, "what shall I do?I can't go without seeing Rex. I never heard of a girl that wasmarried being sent off to school. I--I dare not tell Uncle John I amsomebody's wife. Oh, if I could only see Rex!" Daisy springs out ofbed and crosses over to the little white curtained window, gazing outinto the still calm beauty of the night. "If I only knew where tofind Rex," she mused, "I would go to him now. Surely he would not letme be sent away from him." She turned away from the window with asigh. "I must see Rex to-morrow morning," she said, determinedly. Andthe weary little golden head, tired out with the day which had justdied out, sunk restfully down upon the snowy pillow in a dreamlesssleep, the happiest, alas! that poor little girl-bride was to know forlong and weary years.
A dark, dreamy silence wraps the cottage in its soft embrace, themoon, clear and full, sails tranquilly through the star-sown heavens,and the sweet scent of distant orange groves is wafted through themidnight breeze. Yet the dark-cloaked figure that walks quickly andsoftly up the graveled walk sees none of the soft, calm beauty of thestill summer night. She raises the brass knocker with a quick,imperative touch. After a wait of perhaps ten minutes or so Septimaanswers the summons, but the candle she holds nearly drops from herhands as she beholds the face of her midnight visitor in the dim,uncertain flickering glare of the candle-light.
"Miss Pluma," she exclaims, in amazement, "is there any one ill at theHall?"
"No!" replies Pluma, in a low, soft, guarded whisper. "I wished to seeyou--my business is most important--may I come in?"
"Certainly," answered Septima, awkwardly. "I beg your pardon, miss,for keeping you standing outside so long."
As Pluma took the seat Septima placed for her, the dark cloak she wor
efell from her shoulders, and Septima saw with wonder she still worethe shimmering silk she had in all probability worn at the fete. Therubies still glowed like restless, leaping fire upon her perfect armsand snowy throat, and sprays of hyacinth were still twined in herdark, glossy hair; but they were quite faded now, drooping, crushed,and limp among her curls; there was a strange dead-white pallor on herhaughty face, and a lurid gleam shone in her dark, slumbrous eyes.Pluma had studied well the character of the woman before her--who madeno secret of her dislike for the child thrust upon their bounty--andreadily imagined she would willingly aid her in carrying out thescheme she had planned.
Slowly one by one the stars died out of the sky; the pale moon driftedsilently behind the heavy rolling clouds; the winds tossed the tops ofthe tall trees to and fro, and the dense darkness which precedes thebreaking of the gray dawn settled over the earth.
The ponies which the groom had held for long hours pawed the groundrestlessly; the man himself was growing impatient.
"She can be up to no good," he muttered; "all honest people should bein their beds."
The door of the cottage opened, and Pluma Hurlhurst walked slowly downthe path.
"All is fair in love's warfare," she mutters, triumphantly. "Fool!with your baby face and golden hair, you shall walk quickly into thenet I have spread for you; he shall despise you. Ay, crush with hisheel into the earth the very flowers that bear the name of _Daisy_."