Chapter 37

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_ CHAPTER XXXVII For a moment Daisy stood irresolute. "Follow me into my study, and tell me your trouble. You say it concerns my daughter. Perhaps I can advise you." Ah, yes! he above all others could help her--he was Pluma's father--he could stop the fatal marriage. She would not be obliged to face Rex. Without another word Daisy turned and followed him. Although Daisy had lived the greater portion of her life at John Brooks' cottage on the Hurlhurst plantation, this was the first time she had ever gazed upon the face of the recluse master of Whitestone Hall. He had spent those years abroad; and poor Daisy's banishment dated from the time the lawn fête had been given in honor of their return. Daisy glanced shyly up through her veil with a strange feeling of awe at the noble face, with the deep lines of suffering around the mouth, as he opened his study door, and, with a stately inclination of the head, bade her enter. "His face is not like Pluma's," she thought, with a strange flutter at her heart. "He looks good and kind. I am sure I can trust him." Daisy was quite confused as she took the seat he indicated. Mr. Hurlhurst drew up his arm-chair opposite her, and waited with the utmost patience for her to commence. She arose and stood before him, clasping her trembling little white hands together supplicatingly. He could not see her face, for she stood in the shadow, and the room was dimly lighted; but he knew that the sweet, pathetic voice was like the sound of silvery bells chiming some half-forgotten strain. "I have come to tell you this wedding can not--must not--go on to-night!" she cried, excitedly. Basil Hurlhurst certainly thought the young girl standing before him must be mad. "I do not understand," he said, slowly, yet gently. "Why do you, a stranger, come to me on my daughter's wedding-night with such words as these? What reason can you offer why this marriage should not proceed?" He could not tell whether she had heard his words or not, she stood before him so silent, her little hands working nervously together. She looked wistfully into his face, and she drew her slender figure up to its full height, as she replied, in a low, passionate, musical voice: "Mr. Lyon can not marry your daughter, sir, for he has a living wife." "Mr. Lyon has a wife?" repeated Basil Hurlhurst, literally dumbfounded with amazement. "In Heaven's name, explain yourself!" he cried, rising hastily from his chair and facing her. The agitation on his face was almost alarming. His grand old face was as white as his linen. His eyes were full of eager, painful suspense and excitement. With a violent effort at self-control he restrained his emotions, sinking back in his arm-chair like one who had received an unexpected blow. Daisy never remembered in what words she told him the startling truth. He never interrupted her until she had quite finished. "You will not blame Rex," she pleaded, her sweet voice choking with emotion; "he believes me dead." Basil Hurlhurst did not answer; his thoughts were too confused. Yes, it was but too true--the marriage could not go on. He reached hastily toward the bell-rope. "You will not let my--Rex know until I am far away," she cried, piteously, as she put her marriage certificate in Mr. Hurlhurst's hand. "I am going to send for Rex to come here at once," he made answer. With a low, agonized moan, Daisy grasped his outstretched hand, scarcely knowing what she did. "Oh, please do not, Mr. Hurlhurst," she sobbed. "Rex must not see me; I should die if you sent for him; I could not bear it--indeed, I could not." She was looking at him, all her heart in her eyes, and, as if he felt magnetically the power of her glance, he turned toward her, meeting the earnest gaze of the blue, uplifted eyes. The light fell full upon her fair, flushed face, and the bonnet and veil she wore had fallen back from the golden head. A sudden mist seemed to come before his eyes, and he caught his breath with a sharp gasp. "What did you say your name was before you were married?" he asked, in a low, intense voice. "I--I--did not quite understand." "Daisy Brooks, your overseer's niece," she answered, simply. She wondered why he uttered such a dreary sigh as he muttered, half aloud, how foolish he was to catch at every straw of hope. Carefully he examined the certificate. It was too true. It certainly certified Rexford Lyon and Daisy Brooks were joined together in the bonds of matrimony nearly a year before. And then he looked at the paper containing the notice of her tragic death, which Daisy had read and carefully saved. Surely no blame could be attached to Rex, in the face of these proofs. He was sorry for the beautiful, haughty heiress, to whom this terrible news would be a great shock; he was sorry for Rex, he had grown so warmly attached to him of late, but he felt still more sorry for the fair child-bride, toward whom he felt such a yearning, sympathetic pity. The great bell in the tower slowly pealed the hour of eight, with a dull, heavy clang, and he suddenly realized what was to be done must be done at once. "I must send for both Rex and Pluma," he said, laying his hands on the beautiful, bowed head; "but, if it will comfort you to be unobserved during the interview, you shall have your wish." He motioned her to one of the curtained recesses, and placed her in an easy-chair. He saw she was trembling violently. It was a hard ordeal for him to go through, but there was no alternative. He touched the bell with a shaking hand, thrusting the certificate and paper into his desk. "Summon my daughter Pluma to me at once," he said to the servant who answered the summons, "and bid Mr. Lyon come to me here within half an hour." He saw the man held a letter in his hand. "If you please, sir," said the man, "as I was coming to answer your bell I met John Brooks, your overseer, in the hall below. A stranger was with him, who requested me to give you this without delay." Basil Hurlhurst broke open the seal. There were but a few penciled words, which ran as follows: "MR. HURLHURST,--Will you kindly grant me an immediate interview? I shall detain you but a few moments. "Yours, hastily, "HARVEY TUDOR, "Of Tudor, Peck & Co, Detectives, Baltimore." The man never forgot the cry that came from his master's lips as he read those brief words. "Yes, tell him to come up at once," he cried; "I will see him here." He forgot the message he had sent for Pluma and Rex--forgot the shrinking, timid little figure in the shadowy drapery of the curtains--even the gay hum of the voices down below, and the strains of music, or that the fatal marriage moment was drawing near. He was wondering if the detective's visit brought him a gleam of hope. Surely he could have no other object in calling so hurriedly on this night above all other nights. A decanter of wine always sat on the study table. He turned toward it now with feverish impatience, poured out a full glass with his nervous fingers, and drained it at a single draught. A moment later the detective and John Brooks, looking pale and considerably excited, were ushered into the study. For a single instant the master of Whitestone Hall glanced into the detective's keen gray eyes for one ray of hope, as he silently grasped his extended hand. "I see we are alone," said Mr. Tudor, glancing hurriedly around the room--"we three, I mean," he added. Suddenly Basil Hurlhurst thought of the young girl, quite hidden from view. "No," he answered, leading the way toward an inner room, separated from the study by a heavy silken curtain; "but in this apartment we shall certainly be free from interruption. Your face reveals nothing," he continued, in an agitated voice, "but I believe you have brought me news of my child." Basil Hurlhurst had no idea the conversation carried on in the small apartment to which he had conducted them could be overheard from the curtained recess in which Daisy sat. But he was mistaken; Daisy could hear every word of it. She dared not cry out or walk forth from her place of concealment lest she should come suddenly face to face with Rex. As the light had fallen on John Brooks' honest face, how she had longed to spring forward with a glad little cry and throw herself into his strong, sheltering arms! She wondered childishly why he was there with Mr. Tudor, the detective, whose voice she had instantly recognized. "I have two errands here to-night," said the detective, pleasantly. "I hope I shall bring good news, in one sense; the other we will discuss later on." The master of Whitestone Hall made no comments; still he wondered why the detective had used the words "one sense." Surely, he thought, turning pale, his long-lost child could not be dead. Like one in a dream, Daisy heard the detective go carefully over the ground with Basil Hurlhurst--all the incidents connected with the loss of his child. Daisy listened out of sheer wonder. She could not tell why. "I think we have the right clew," continued the detective, "but we have no actual proof to support our supposition; there is one part still cloudy." There were a few low-murmured words spoken to John Brooks. There was a moment of silence, broken by her uncle John's voice. For several moments he talked rapidly and earnestly, interrupted now and then by an exclamation of surprise from the master of Whitestone Hall. Every word John Brooks uttered pierced Daisy's heart like an arrow. She uttered a little, sharp cry, but no one heard her. She fairly held her breath with intense interest. Then she heard the detective tell them the story of Rex Lyon's marriage with her, and he had come to Whitestone Hall to stop the ceremony about to be performed. Basil Hurlhurst scarcely heeded his words. He had risen to his feet with a great, glad cry, and pushed aside the silken curtains that led to the study. As he did so he came face to face with Daisy Brooks, standing motionless, like a statue, before him. Then she fell, with a low, gasping cry, senseless at Basil Hurlhurst's feet. _

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