  Not a muscle of Pluma Hurlhurst’s face quivered, but the woman uttered a low cry, shrinking close to her side. “Save me, Pluma!” she gasped. “I did it for your sake!” Basil Hurlhurst slowly put back the curtain, and stepped into the room, clasping his long-lost daughter to his breast. Daisy’s arms were clinging round his neck, and her golden head rested on his shoulder. She was sobbing hysterically, John Brooks, deeply affected, following after. Like a stag at bay, the woman’s courage seemed to return to her, as she stood face to face after all those years with the husband whom she had so cruelly deceived––and the proud-faced man who stood beside him––whose life she had blighted with the keenest and most cruel blow of all. Basil Hurlhurst was the first to break the ominous silence. “It is unnecessary to tell you we have heard all,” he said, slowly. “I shall not seek redress for your double crime. Leave this locality at once, or I may repent the leniency of my decision. I hold you guiltless, Pluma,” he added, gently. “You are not my child, yet I have not been wanting in kindness toward you. I shall make every provision for your future comfort with your father,” he said, indicating John Brooks, who stood pale and trembling at his side. “Pluma, my child,” cried John Brooks, brokenly, extending his arms. But the scornful laugh that fell from her lips froze the blood in his veins. “Your child!” she shrieked, mockingly; “do not dare call me that again. What care I for your cotton fields, or for Whitestone Hall?” she cried, proudly, drawing herself up to her full height. “You have always hated me, Basil Hurlhurst,” she cried, turning haughtily toward him. “This is your triumph! Within the next hour I shall be Rex Lyon’s wife.” She repeated the words with a clear, ringing laugh, her flaming eyes fairly scorching poor little Daisy’s pale, frightened face. “Do you hear me, Daisy Brooks!” she screamed. “You loved Rex Lyon, and I have won him from you. You can queen it over Whitestone Hall, but I shall not care. I shall be queen of Rex’s heart and home! Mine is a glorious revenge!” She stopped short for want of breath, and Basil Hurlhurst interrupted her. “I have to inform you you are quite mistaken there,” he replied, calmly. “Mr. Rexford Lyon will not marry you to-night, for he is already married to my little daughter Daisy.” “Pluma,” cried Daisy, unclasping her arms from her father’s neck, and swiftly crossing over to where her rival stood, beautifully, proudly defiant, “forgive me for the pain I have caused you unknowingly. I did not dream I was––an––an––heiress––or that Mr. Hurlhurst was my father. I don’t want you to go away, Pluma, from the luxury that has been yours; stay and be my sister––share my home.” “My little tender-hearted angel!” cried Basil Hurlhurst, moved to tears. John Brooks hid his face in his hands. For a single instant the eyes of these two girls met––whose lives had crossed each other so strangely––Daisy’s blue eyes soft, tender and appealing, Pluma’s hard, flashing, bitter and scornful. She drew herself up to her full height. “Remain in your house?” she cried, haughtily, trembling with rage. “You mistake me, girl: do you think I could see you enjoying the home that I have believed to be mine––see the man I love better than life itself lavish caresses upon you––kiss your lips––and bear it calmly? Live the life of a pauper when I have been led to believe I was an heiress! Better had I never known wealth than be cast from luxury into the slums of poverty,” she wailed out, sharply. “I shall not touch a dollar of your money, Basil Hurlhurst. I despise you too much. I have lived with the trappings of wealth around me––the petted child of luxury––all in vain––all in vain.” Basil Hurlhurst was struck with the terrible grandeur of the picture she made, standing there in her magnificent, scornful pride––a wealth of jewels flashing on her throat and breast and twined in the long, sweeping hair that had become loosened and swept in a dark, shining mass to her slender waist, her flashing eyes far outshining the jewels upon which the softened gas-light streamed. Not one gleam of remorse softened her stony face in its cruel, wicked beauty. Her jeweled hand suddenly crept to the pocket of her dress where she had placed the vial. “Open that door!” she commanded. The key fell from her mother’s nerveless grasp. The detective quietly picked it up, placed it in the lock, and opened Pluma saw him first. “Rex!” she cried, in a low, hoarse voice, staggering toward him; but he recoiled from her, and she saw Stanwick’s letter in his hands; and she knew in an instant all her treachery was revealed; and without another word––pale as death––but with head proudly erect, she swept with the dignity of a princess from the scene of her bitter defeat, closely followed by her cowering mother. Rex did not seek to detain her; his eyes had suddenly fallen upon the golden-haired little figure kneeling by Basil Hurlhurst’s chair. He reached her side at a single bound. “Oh, Daisy, my darling, my darling!” he cried, snatching her in his arms, and straining her to his breast, as he murmured passionate, endearing words over her. Suddenly he turned to Mr. Hurlhurst. “I must explain––” “That is quite unnecessary, Rex, my boy,” said Mr. Tudor, stepping forward with tears in his eyes; “Mr. Hurlhurst knows all.” It never occurred to handsome, impulsive Rex to question what Daisy was doing there. He only knew Heaven had restored him his beautiful, idolized child-bride. “You will forgive my harshness, won’t you, love?” he pleaded. “I will devote my whole life to blot out the past. Can you learn to love me, sweetheart, and forget the cloud that drifted between us?” A rosy flush suffused the beautiful flower-like face, as Daisy shyly lifted her radiantly love-lighted blue eyes to his face with a coy glance that fairly took his breath away for rapturous ecstasy. Daisy’s golden head nestled closer on his breast, and two little soft, white arms, whose touch thrilled him through and through, stole round his neck––that was all the answer she made him. John Brooks had quietly withdrawn from the room; and while Basil Hurlhurst with a proudly glowing face went down among the waiting and expectant guests to unfold to them the marvelous story, and explain why the marriage could not take place, the detective briefly acquainted Rex with the wonderful story. “I sought and won you when you were simple little Daisy Daisy glanced up into her handsome young husband’s face as she whispered, softly: “Nothing can ever change my love, Rex, unless it is to love you more and more.” And for answer Rex clasped the little fairy still closer in his arms, kissing the rosy mouth over and over again, as he laughingly replied he was more fortunate than most fellows, being lover and husband all in one. The announcement created an intense furor among the fluttering maidens down in the spacious parlors. Nobody regretted Pluma’s downfall, although Basil Hurlhurst carefully kept that part of the narrative back. “Oh, it is just like a romance,” cried Eve Glenn, rapturously; “but still we must not be disappointed, girls; we must have a wedding all the same. Rex and Daisy must be married over again.” Every one was on the tiptoe of expectancy to see the beautiful little heroine of a double romance. Eve Glenn, followed by Birdie, found her out at once in the study. “Oh, you darling!” cried Eve, laughing and crying in one breath, as she hugged and kissed Daisy rapturously; “and just to think you were married all the time, and to Rex, too; above all other fellows in the world, he was just the one I had picked out for you.” Rex was loath to let Daisy leave him even for a moment. Eve was firm. “I shall take her to my room and convert her in no time at all into a veritable Cinderella.” “She is the pretty young girl that carried me from the stone wall, and I have loved her so much ever since, even if I couldn’t remember her name,” cried Birdie, clapping her hands in the greatest glee. In the din of the excitement, Pluma Hurlhurst shook the dust of Whitestone Hall forever from her feet, muttering maledictions at the happy occupants. She had taken good care to secure all the valuables that she could lay her hands on, which were quite a fortune in themselves, securing her from want for life. She was never heard from more. Eve Glenn took Daisy to her own room, and there the wonderful “There never was such a little fairy of a bride!” she cried, exultantly leading Daisy to the mirror. “True, you haven’t any diamonds, and I haven’t any to loan you; but who would miss such trifles, gazing at such a bewitching, blushing face and eyes bright as stars? Oh, won’t every one envy Rex, though!” “Please don’t, Eve,” cried Daisy. “I’m so happy, and you are trying to make me vain.” A few moments later there was a great hush in the vast parlors below, as Daisy entered the room, leaning tremblingly on Rex’s arm, who looked as happy as a king, and Basil Hurlhurst, looking fully ten years younger than was his wont, walking proudly beside his long-lost daughter. The storm had died away, and the moon broke through the dark clouds, lighting the earth with a silvery radiance, as Rex and Daisy took their places before the altar, where the ceremony which made them man and wife was for the second time performed. Heaven’s light never fell on two such supremely happy mortals as were Rex and his bonny blushing bride. Outside of Whitestone Hall a motley throng was gathering with the rapidity of lightning––the story had gone from lip to lip––the wonderful story of the long-lost heiress and the double romance. Cheer after cheer rent the air, and telegraph wires were busy with the startling revelations. The throng around the Hall pressed forward to catch a glimpse of the pretty little bride. Young girls laughed and cried for very joy. Mothers, fathers, and sweethearts fervently cried: “God bless her!” All night long the bells rang from the church belfries, bonfires were lighted on all the surrounding hills. A telegram was sent to a Baltimore marble firm countermanding a certain order. All night long the young people danced to the chime of merry music, and all night long the joy-bells pealed from the turrets of Whitestone Hall, and they seemed to echo the chorus of the people. “God bless sweet little Daisy Lyon, the long-lost heiress of Whitestone Hall!” THE END ad page ad page ad page ad page ad page ad page ad page ad page This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will be renamed. |
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