Chapter 15

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_ CHAPTER XV Slowly the days came and went for the next fortnight. The crisis had passed, and Dr. West said she would soon recover. The beautiful, long, golden hair had been shorn from the pretty little head, and the rose-bloom had died out of the pretty cheeks, but the bright, restless light never left the beautiful blue eyes--otherwise there was but little change in Daisy. It had been just two weeks that morning, they told her, as she opened her eyes to consciousness, since she had first been stricken down. "And I have been here ever since?" she inquired, wonderingly. "Yes, my dear," replied Ruth Burton, softly patting the thin white cheeks; "of course you have been here ever since. I am afraid we are going to lose you soon, however. We have received a letter from your husband, saying he will be here some time to-morrow. Shall you be pleased to see him, dear?" In one single instant all the dim, horrible past rushed back to Daisy's mind. She remembered flinging herself down in the clover-scented grass, and the world growing dark around her, as the terrible words of Stanwick rang in her ears--he would be back in just fifteen minutes to claim her. Ah, bonny little Daisy, tossing on your pillow, babbling empty nothings, better would it have been for you, perhaps, if you had dropped the weary burden of your life into the kindly arms of death then and there than to struggle onward into the dark mystery which lay entombed in your future. "Shall you be glad to see Mr. Stanwick, dear?" repeated the old lady, and, unconscious of any wrong, she placed the letter he had written in Daisy's hands. Like one in a terrible dream, Daisy read it quite through to the end. "You see, he says he incloses fifty dollars extra for you, dear. I have placed it with the twenty safe in your little purse." "Oh, Miss Ruth, you are so very kind to me. I shall never forget how good you have all been to me," said Daisy, softly, watching the three peaceful-faced old ladies, who had drawn their rocking-chairs, as was their custom, all in a row, and sat quietly knitting in the sunshine, the gentle click of their needles falling soothingly upon Daisy's poor, tired brain. "We shall miss you sadly when you go," said Ruth, knitting away vigorously. "You have been like a ray of sunshine in this gloomy old house. We have all learned to love you very dearly." "You love me?" repeated Daisy, wonderingly. "I was beginning to believe every one hated me in the whole world, every one has been so bitter and so cruel with me, except poor old Uncle John. I often wonder why God lets me live--what am I to do with my life! Mariana in the moated grange, was not more to be pitied than I. Death relieved her, but I am left to struggle on." "Heaven hear her!" cried Ruth. "One suffers a great deal to lose all interest in life. You are so young, dear, you could not have suffered much." "I have lost all I hold dear in life," she answered, pathetically, lifting her beautiful, childish blue eyes toward the white fleecy clouds tinted by the setting sun. Their hearts ached for the pretty, lonely little creature. They believed she was thinking of her mother. So she was--and of Rex, the handsome young husband whom she so madly idolized in her worshipful childish fashion, who was worse than dead to her--the husband who should have believed in her honor and purity, though the world had cried out to him that she was false. He had thrust aside all possibility of her writing to him; cast her out from his life; left her to be persecuted beyond all endurance; bound by a vow she dare not break to keep her marriage with Rex a secret. Though he was more cruel than death, she loved Rex with a devotion that never faltered. Daisy lay there, thinking of it all, while the soft, golden sunlight died out of the sky, and the deep dusk of twilight crept softly on. Then the old ladies arose from their chairs, folded their knitting, and put it away. Dusk was their hour for retiring. They were discussing which one should sit up with Daisy, when she summoned them all to her bedside. "I want you all to go to bed and never mind me," coaxed Daisy, with a strange light in her eyes. "Take a good sleep, as I am going to do. I shall be very happy to-morrow--happier than I have ever been before!" She clasped her white arms about their necks in turn, clinging to them, and sobbing as though she was loath to part with them. Ruth's hand she held last and longest. "Please kiss me again," she sobbed. "Clasp your arms tight around me, and say 'Good-night, Daisy.' It will be so nice to dream about." With a cheery laugh the old lady lovingly complied with her request. "You must close those bright little eyes of yours, and drift quickly into the Land of Nod, or there will be no roses in these cheeks to-morrow. Good-night, my pretty little dear!" "Good-night, dear, kind Ruth!" sighed Daisy. And she watched the old lady with wistful, hungry eyes as she picked up her shaded night-lamp, that threw such a soft, sweet radiance over her aged face, as she quietly quitted the room. A sudden change came over Daisy's face as the sound of her footsteps died away in the hall. "Oh, God! help me!" she cried, piteously, struggling to her feet. "I must be far away from here when daylight breaks." She was so weak she almost fell back on her bed again when she attempted to rise. The thought of the morrow lent strength to her flagging energies. A strange mist seemed rising before her. Twice she seemed near fainting, but her indomitable courage kept her from sinking, as she thought of what the morrow would have in store for her. Quietly she counted over the little store in her purse by the moon's rays. "Seventy dollars! Oh, I could never use all that in my life!" she cried. "Besides, I could never touch one cent of Stanwick's money. It would burn my fingers--I am sure it would!" Folding the bill carefully in two she placed it beneath her little snowy ruffled pillow. Then catching up the thick, dark shawl which lay on an adjacent table, she wrapped it quickly about her. She opened the door leading out into the hall, and listened. All was still--solemnly still. Daisy crept softly down the stairs, and out into the quiet beauty of the still, summer night. "Rex," she wailed, softly, "perhaps when I am dead you will feel sorry for poor little Daisy, and some one may tell you how you have wronged me in your thoughts, but you would not let me tell you how it happened!" In the distance she saw the shimmer of water lying white and still under the moon's rays, tipped by the silvery light of the stars. "No, not that way," she cried, with a shudder; "some one might save me, and I want to die!" In the distance the red and colored gleaming lights of an apothecary's shop caught her gaze. "Yes, that way will be best," she said, reflectively. She drew the shawl closer about her, pressing on as rapidly as her feeble little feet would carry her. How weak she was when she turned the knob and entered--the very lights seemed dancing around her. A small, keen-eyed, shrewd little man stepped briskly forward to wait upon her. He started back in horror at the utter despair and woe in the beautiful young face that was turned for a moment toward him, beautiful in all its pallor as a statue, with a crown of golden hair such as pictures of angels wear encircling the perfect head. "What can I do for you, miss?" queried the apothecary, gazing searchingly into the beautiful dreamy blue eyes raised up to his and wondering who she could possibly be. "I wish to purchase some laudanum," Daisy faltered. "I wish it to relieve a pain which is greater than I can bear." "Toothache, most probably?" intimated the brisk little doctor. "I know what it is. Lord bless you! I've had it until I thought I should jump through the roof. Laudanum's a first-class thing, but I can tell you of something better--jerk 'em out, that's my recipe," he said, with an odd little smile. "Of course every one to their notion, and if you say laudanum--and nothing else--why it's laudanum you shall have; but remember it's powerful. Why, ten drops of it would cause--death." "How many drops did you say?" asked Daisy, bending forward eagerly. "I--I want to be careful in taking it." "Ten drops, I said, would poison a whole family, and twenty a regiment. You must use it very carefully, miss. Remember I have warned you," he said, handing her the little bottle filled with a dark liquid and labeled conspicuously, "Laudanum--a poison." "Please give me my change quickly," she said, a strange, deadly sickness creeping over her. "Certainly, ma'am," assented the obliging little man, handing her back the change. Daisy quite failed to notice that he returned her the full amount she had paid him in his eagerness to oblige her, and he went happily back to compounding his drugs in the rear part of the shop, quite unconscious he was out the price of the laudanum. He was dreaming of the strange beauty of the young girl, and the smile deepened on his good-humored face as he remembered how sweetly she had gazed up at him. Meanwhile Daisy struggled on, clasping her treasure close to her throbbing heart. She remembered Ruth had pointed out an old shaft to her from her window; it had been unused many years, she had said. "The old shaft shall be my tomb," she said; "no one will think of looking for me there." Poor little Daisy--unhappy girl-bride, let Heaven not judge her harshly--she was sorely tried. "Mother, mother!" she sobbed, in a dry, choking voice, "I can not live any longer. I am not taking the life God gave me, I am only returning it to Him. This is the only crime I have ever committed, mother, and man will forget it, and God will forgive me. You must plead for me, angel-mother. Good-bye, dear, kind Uncle John, your love never failed me, and Rex--oh, Rex--whom I love best of all, you will not know how I loved you. Oh, my love--my lost love--I shall watch over you up there!" she moaned, "and come to you in your dreams! Good-bye, Rex, my love, my husband!" she sobbed, holding the fatal liquid to her parched lips. The deep yawning chasm lay at her feet. Ten--ay, eleven drops she hastily swallowed. Then with one last piteous appeal to Heaven for forgiveness, poor, helpless little Daisy closed her eyes and sprung into the air. _

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