"Some time I may bring my brother with me; you must love him, too, won"t you?"
"I should love any one who had you for a sister," replied Daisy, clasping the little figure she held still closer in her arms; adding, in her heart: "You are so like him."
Birdie gave her such a hearty kiss, that the veil twined round her hat tumbled about her face like a misty cloud.
"You must put me down while you fix your veil," said Birdie. "You can not see with it so. There are huge stones in the path, you would stumble and fall."
"So I shall," a.s.sented Daisy, as she placed the child down on the soft, green gra.s.s.
At that instant swift, springy footsteps came hurriedly down the path, and a voice, which seemed to pierce her very heart, called: "Birdie, little Birdie, where are you?"
"Here, Brother Rex," called the child, holding out her arms to him with eager delight. "Come here, Rex, and carry me; I have broken my crutch."
For one brief instant the world seemed to stand still around poor, hapless Daisy, the forsaken girl-bride. The wonder was that she did not die, so great was her intense emotion. Rex was standing before her--the handsome, pa.s.sionate lover, who had married her on the impulse of the moment; the man whom she loved with her whole heart, at whose name she trembled, of whom she had made an idol in her girlish heart, and worshiped--the lover who had vowed so earnestly he would shield her forever from the cold, cruel world, who had sworn eternal constancy, while the faithful gleaming stars watched him from the blue sky overhead.
Yes, it was Rex! She could not see through the thick, misty veil, how pale his face was in the gathering darkness. Oh, Heaven! how her pa.s.sionate little heart went out to him! How she longed, with a pa.s.sionate longing words could not tell, to touch his hand, or rest her weary head on his breast.
Her brain whirled; she seemed, to live ages in those few moments.
Should she throw herself on her knees, and cry out to him, "Oh, Rex, Rex, my darling! I am _not_ guilty! Listen to me, my love. Hear my pleading--listen to my prayer! I am more sinned against than sinning.
My life has been as pure as an angel"s--take me back to your heart, or I shall die!"
"She has been so good to me, Rex," whispered Birdie, clinging to the veil which covered Daisy"s face. "I broke my crutch, and she has carried me from the stone wall; won"t you please thank her for me, brother?"
Daisy"s heart nearly stopped beating; she knew the eventful moment of her life had come, when Rex, her handsome young husband, turned courteously toward her, extending his hand with a winning smile.
CHAPTER XIX.
On the day following Rex"s return home, and the morning preceding the events narrated in our last chapter, Mrs. Theodore Lyon sat in her dressing-room eagerly awaiting her son; her eyebrows met in a dark frown and her jeweled hands were locked tightly together in her lap.
"Rex is like his father," she mused; "he will not be coerced in this matter of marriage. He is reckless and willful, yet kind of heart. For long years I have set my heart upon this marriage between Rex and Pluma Hurlhurst. I say again it must be!" Mrs. Lyon idolized her only son. "He would be a fitting mate for a queen," she told herself. The proud, peerless beauty of the haughty young heiress of Whitestone Hall pleased her. "She and no other shall be Rex"s wife," she said.
When Rex accepted the invitation to visit Whitestone Hall she smiled complacently.
"It can end in but one way," she told herself; "Rex will bring Pluma home as his bride."
Quite unknown to him, his elegant home had been undergoing repairs for months.
"There will be nothing wanting for the reception of his bride," she said, viewing the magnificent suites of rooms which contained every luxury that taste could suggest or money procure.
Then came Rex"s letter like a thunderbolt from a clear sky begging her not to mention the subject again, as he could never marry Pluma Hurlhurst.
"I shall make a flying trip home," he said, "then I am going abroad."
She did not notice how white and worn her boy"s handsome face had grown when she greeted him the night before, in the flickering light of the chandelier. She would not speak to him then of the subject uppermost in her mind.
"Retire to your room at once, Rex," she said, "your journey has wearied you. See, it is past midnight already. I will await you to-morrow morning in my boudoir; we will breakfast there together."
She leaned back against the crimson velvet cushions, tapping her satin quilted slipper restlessly on the thick velvet carpet, ever and anon glancing at her jeweled watch, wondering what could possibly detain Rex.
She heard the sound of a quick, familiar footstep in the corridor; a moment later Rex was by her side. As she stooped down to kiss his face she noticed, in the clear morning light, how changed he was. Her jeweled hands lingered on his dark curls and touched his bright, proud face. "What had come over this handsome, impetuous son of hers?" she asked herself.
"You have been ill, Rex," she said, anxiously, "and you have not told me."
"I have not, indeed, mother," he replied.
"Not ill? Why, my dear boy, your face is haggard and worn, and there are lines upon it that ought not to have been there for years. Rex,"
she said, drawing him down on the sofa beside her, and holding his strong white hands tightly clasped in her own, "I do not want to tease you or bring up an unpleasant subject, but I had so hoped, my boy, you would not come alone. I have hoped and prayed, morning and night, you would bring home a bride, and that bride would be--Pluma Hurlhurst."
Rex staggered from her arms with a groan. He meant to tell her the whole truth, but the words seemed to fail him.
"Mother," he said, turning toward her a face white with anguish, "in Heaven"s name, never mention love or marriage to me again or I shall go mad. I shall never bring a bride here."
"He has had a quarrel with Pluma," she thought.
"Rex," she said, placing her hands on his shoulders and looking down into his face, "tell me, has Pluma Hurlhurst refused you? Tell me what is the matter, Rex. I am your mother, and I have the right to know.
The one dream of my life has been to see Pluma your wife; I can not give up that hope. If it is a quarrel it can be easily adjusted; "true love never runs smooth," you know."
"It is not that, mother," said Rex, wearily bowing his head on his hands.
Then something like the truth seemed to dawn upon her.
"My son," she said, in a slight tone of irritation, "Pluma wrote me of that little occurrence at the lawn fete. Surely you are not in love with that girl you were so foolishly attentive to--the overseer"s niece, I believe it was. I can not, I will not, believe a son of mine could so far forget his pride as to indulge in such mad, reckless folly. Remember, Rexford," she cried, in a voice fairly trembling with suppressed rage, "I could never forgive such an act of recklessness.
She should never come here, I warn you."
"Mother," said Rex, raising his head proudly, and meeting the flashing scorn of her eyes unflinchingly, "you must not speak so; I--can not listen to it."
"By what right do you forbid me to speak of that girl as I choose?"
she demanded, in a voice hard and cold with intense pa.s.sion.
Once or twice Rex paced the length of the room, his arms folded upon his breast. Suddenly he stopped before her.
"What is this girl to you?" she asked.
With white, quivering lips Rex answered back:
"She is my wife!"
The words were spoken almost in a whisper, but they echoed like thunder through the room, and seemed to repeat themselves, over and over again, during the moment of utter silence that ensued. Rex had told his pitiful secret, and felt better already, as if the worst was over; while his mother stood motionless and dumb, glaring upon him with a baleful light in her eyes. He had dashed down in a single instant the hopes she had built up for long years.
"Let me tell you about it, mother," he said, kneeling at her feet.
"The worst and bitterest part is yet to come."
"Yes, tell me," his mother said, hoa.r.s.ely.