When Daisy Brooks opened her eyes, she found herself lying on a white bed, and in a strange apartment which she never remembered having seen before. For one brief instant she quite imagined the terrible ordeal through which she had passed was but a dream. Then it all came back to her with cruel distinctness.

“Where am I?” she cried, struggling up to a sitting posture, and putting back the tangled golden hair from her face. “How came I here? Who saved me from the terrible dark water?”

“I did,” answered a young man, rising from his seat by the open window. “I saved your life at the risk of my own. Look up into my face, Daisy, and see if you do not remember me.”

She lifted her blue eyes to the dark, handsome, smiling face before her. Yes, she had seen that face before, but she could not remember where.

He laughed, disclosing his handsome white teeth.

“You can not guess, eh?” he said. “Then it is certainly evident I did not make much of an impression upon you. I am disappointed. I will not keep you in suspense, however. We met at Whitestone Hall, on the night of the lawn fÊte, and my name is Lester Stanwick.”

Ah, she did remember him, standing beneath a waving palm-tree, his bold, dark eyes following her every motion, while she was waltzing with Rex.

He saw the flash of recognition in her eyes, and the blush that mantled her fair, sweet face.

“I am very grateful to you, sir, for saving me. But won’t you take me home, please? I don’t want to go back to Madame Whitney’s.”

“Of course not,” he said, with a twinkle in his eyes, “when you left it in such a remarkable manner as running away.”

“How did you know I ran away?” asked Daisy, flushing hotly.

“Madame Whitney has advertised for you,” he responded, promptly.

Although he well knew what he uttered was a deliberate falsehood, he merely guessed the little wild bird had grown weary of the restraint, and had flown away.

“Did she do that?” asked Daisy, thoroughly alarmed, her great blue eyes dilating with fear. “Oh, Mr. Stanwick, what shall I do? I do not want to go back. I would sooner die first.”

“There is no occasion for you to do either,” he replied. “You are in good hands. Stay here until the storm blows over. In all probability the madame has sent detectives out in all directions searching for you.”

Daisy was so young, so unsuspecting, so artless, and knew so little of the ways of the world or its intriguing people that she quite believed his assertion.

“Oh, what shall I do?” she sobbed, covering her face with her hands. “Oh, I must go back to Uncle John, and––to––to––”

Stanwick had no idea she meant Rex. He took it for granted she meant John Brooks and Septima.

“It is quite uncertain when John Brooks returns to Allendale,” he said; “and I suppose you are aware his sister has also left the place––gone, no one knows whither––the Brookses’ cottage on the brow of the hill stands empty.”

“Gone!” cried Daisy, catching her breath swift and hard, “did you say, sir? Aunt Septima has gone––no one lives in the cottage?” Poor Daisy quite believed she was losing her senses.

“Yes,” said Stanwick, smothering a low, malicious laugh, “that is what I said; but I am quite surprised that it is news to you. You are all alone in the world, you see. Of course you could not go back to Allendale. You can do no better than stay in your present quarters for at least a week or so, until you fully recover from your mad frolic on the water and gain a little strength.”

“Where am I?” asked Daisy, “and how did I get here? and who lives here?”

“One question at a time, if you please,” laughed Stanwick, gazing admiringly at the beautiful, questioning, eager face.

“I suppose,” he began, with provoking coolness, “you have been filling that little head of yours with romantic ideas of running away from school, and sailing far out to sea, and straight into the arms of some handsome hero who would save you, and would carry you off to some castle, and turn out to be a prince in disguise! That’s the way they usually turn out, isn’t it? But you found the theory did not work very well in real life, and your little romance came near costing you your life––eh, Miss Daisy? As for the second question, I rescued you, just in the nick of time, by jumping into the turbulent waves and bearing you out of harm’s way and keeping that little romantic head of yours above water until the barge could be stopped, and you were then brought on board. I recognized you at once,” he continued; “and to prevent suspicion and inquiry, which would have been sure to follow, I claimed you––as my wife! Do not be alarmed,” he said, as a sharp, horrified cry rose to the red lips. “I simply did that in order to protect you from being returned at once in bitter disgrace to Madame Whitney’s. Not knowing what else to do with you when the boat landed, I brought you here, and here you have been ever since, quite unconscious up to date.”

“Was it last night you brought me here?” asked Daisy.

“You are not good at guessing. You have been here two nights and two days.”

“But who lives here?” persisted Daisy. “Is this your house?”

“Oh, dear, no,” laughed Stanwick. “Upon my honor, you are not very complimentary to my taste,” he said, glancing around the meagerly furnished apartment. “As near as I can understand it, the house is occupied by three grim old maids. Each looks to be the twin of the other. This was the first shelter I could find, and I had carried you all the way from the boat in my arms, and under the circumstances, after much consulting, they at last agreed to allow you to remain here. Now you have the whole story in a nutshell.”

“Why did they not send to Septima to come to me?” she asked presently.

“Because they thought you were with your best protector––your husband.”

“Did you tell them that here, too?” asked Daisy, growing white and ill with a dizzy horror. “Oh, Mr. Stanwick, send 57 for them at once, and tell them it is not so, or I must!” she added, desperately.

“You must do nothing of the kind, you silly child. Do you suppose they would have sheltered you for a single instant if they had not believed you were my wife? You do not know the ways of the world. Believe me, it was the only course I could pursue, in that awkward dilemma, without bringing disgrace and detection upon you.”

As if in answer to the question that was trembling upon Daisy’s lips, he continued:

“I am stopping at a boarding-place some little distance from here. This is not Baltimore, but a little station some sixty miles from there. When you are well and strong you may go where you please, although I frankly own the situation is by no means an unpleasant one for me. I would be willing to stay here always––with you.”

“Sir!” cried Daisy, flushing as red as the climbing roses against the window, her blue eyes blazing up with sudden fire, “do you mean to insult me?”

“By no means,” responded Lester Stanwick, eagerly. “Indeed, I respect and honor you too much for that. Why, I risked my life to save yours, and shielded your honor with my name. Had I been your husband in very truth I could not have done more.”

Daisy covered her face with her hands.

“I thank you very much for saving me,” she sobbed, “but won’t you please go away now and leave me to myself?”

RouÉ and villain as Lester Stanwick was, he could not help feeling touched by the innocence and beauty of little Daisy, and from that instant he loved her with a wild, absorbing, passionate love, and he made a vow, then and there, that he would win her.

From their boyhood up Rex and Lester had been rivals. At college Rex had carried off the honors with flying colors. Pluma Hurlhurst, the wealthy heiress, had chosen Rex in preference to himself. He stood little chance with bright-eyed maidens compared with handsome, careless, winning Rex Lyon.

Quite unobserved, he had witnessed the meeting between Rex and Daisy at the fountain, and how tenderly he clasped her in his arms as they waltzed together in the mellow light, to the delicious strains of the “Blue Danube,” and knowing Rex as well as he did, he knew for the first time in life Rex’s heart was touched.

“It would be a glorious revenge,” Stanwick had muttered to himself, “if I could win her from him.” Then a sordid 58 motive of revenge alone prompted him––now he was beginning to experience the sweet thrillings of awakened love himself. Yes, he had learned to love Daisy for her own sweet self.

He smiled as he thought of the last words Pluma Hurlhurst had said to him: “Revenge is sweet, Lester, when love is turned to bitter hatred. Help me to drag Rex Lyon’s pride as low as he has this night dragged mine, and you shall have my hand as your reward. My father is an invalid––he can not live much longer––then you will be master of Whitestone Hall.” As he had walked down the broad gravel path, running his eye over the vast plantation stretching afar on all sides, like a field of snow, as the moonlight fell upon the waving cotton, he owned to himself it was a fair domain well worth the winning.

But as he stood there, gazing silently down upon little Daisy’s face––how strange it was––he would have given up twenty such inheritances for the hope of making sweet little Daisy Brooks his wife.

It was well for Daisy Brooks he little dreamed of the great barrier which lay between them, shutting him out completely from all thoughts of love in Daisy’s romantic heart.