Chapter 38

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_ CHAPTER XXXVIII Pluma Hurlhurst received her father's summons with no little surprise. "What can that foolish old man want, I wonder?" she soliloquized, clasping the diamond-studded bracelets on her perfect arms. "I shall be heartily glad when I am Rex Lyon's wife. I shall soon tell him, then, in pretty plain words, I am not at his beck and call any longer. Come to him instantly, indeed! I shall certainly do no such thing," she muttered. "Did you speak, mademoiselle?" asked the maid. "No," replied Pluma, glancing at the little jeweled watch that glittered in its snow-white velvet case. She took it up with a caressing movement. "How foolish I was to work myself up into such a fury of excitement, when Rex sent for me to present me with the jewels!" she laughed, softly, laying down the watch, and taking up an exquisite jeweled necklace, admired the purity and beauty of the soft, white, gleaming stones. The turret-bell had pealed the hour of eight; she had yet half an hour. She never could tell what impulse prompted her to clasp the shining gems around her white throat, even before she had removed her dressing-robe. She leaned back dreamily in her cushioned chair, watching the effect in the mirror opposite. Steadfastly she gazed at the wondrous loveliness of the picture she made, the dark, lustrous eyes, gleaming with unwonted brilliancy, with their jetty fringe; the rich, red lips, and glowing cheeks. "There are few such faces in the world," she told herself triumphantly. Those were the happiest moments proud, peerless Pluma Hurlhurst was ever to know--"before the hour should wane the fruition of all her hopes would be attained." No feeling of remorse stole over her to imbitter the sweets of her triumphant thoughts. She had lived in a world of her own, planning and scheming, wasting her youth, her beauty, and her genius, to accomplish the one great ultimatum--winning Rex Lyon's love. She took from her bosom a tiny vial, containing a few white, flaky crystals. "I shall not need this now," she told herself. "If Lester Stanwick had intended to interfere he would have done so ere this; he has left me to myself, realizing his threats were all in vain; yet I have been sore afraid. Rex will never know that I lied and schemed to win his love, or that I planned the removal of Daisy Brooks from his path so cleverly; he will never know that I have deceived him, or the wretched story of my folly and passionate, perilous love. I could not have borne the shame and the exposure; there would have been but one escape"--quite unconsciously she slid the vial into the pocket of her silken robe--"I have lived a coward's life; I should have died a coward's death." "It is time to commence arranging your toilet, mademoiselle," said the maid, approaching her softly with the white glimmering satin robe, and fleecy veil over her arm. "My fingers are deft, but you have not one moment to spare." Pluma waved her off with an imperious gesture. "Not yet," she said. "I suppose I might as well go down first as last to see what in the world he wants with me; he should have come to me if he had wished to see me so very particularly;" and the dutiful daughter, throwing the train of her dress carelessly over her arm, walked swiftly through the brilliantly lighted corridor toward Basil Hurlhurst's study. She turned the knob and entered. The room was apparently deserted. "Not here!" she muttered, with surprise. "Well, my dear, capricious father, I shall go straight back to my apartments. You shall come to me hereafter." As she turned to retrace her steps a hand was laid upon her shoulder, and a woman's voice whispered close to her ear: "I was almost afraid I should miss you--fate is kind." Pluma Hurlhurst recoiled from the touch, fairly holding her breath, speechless with fury and astonishment. "You insolent creature!" she cried. "I wonder at your boldness in forcing your presence upon me. Did I not have you thrust from the house an hour ago, with the full understanding I would not see you, no matter who you were or whom you wanted." "I was not at the door an hour ago," replied the woman, coolly; "it must have been some one else. I have been here--to Whitestone Hall--several times before, but you have always eluded me. You shall not do so to-night. You shall listen to what I have come to say to you." For once in her life the haughty, willful heiress was completely taken aback, and she sunk into the arm-chair so lately occupied by Basil Hurlhurst. "I shall ring for the servants, and have you thrown from the house; such impudence is unheard of, you miserable creature!" She made a movement toward the bell-rope, but the woman hastily thrust her back into her seat, crossed over, turned the key in the lock, and hastily removed it. Basil Hurlhurst and John Brooks were about to rush to her assistance, but the detective suddenly thrust them back, holding up his hand warningly. "Not yet," he whispered; "we will wait until we know what this strange affair means. I shall request you both to remain perfectly quiet until by word or signal I advise you to act differently." And, breathless with interest, the three, divided only by the silken hanging curtains, awaited eagerly further developments of the strange scene being enacted before them. Pluma's eyes flashed like ebony fires, and unrestrained passion was written on every feature of her face, as the woman took her position directly in front of her with folded arms, and dark eyes gleaming quite as strangely as her own. Pluma, through sheer astonishment at her peculiar, deliberate manner, was hushed into strange expectancy. For some moments the woman gazed into her face, coolly--deliberately--her eyes fastening themselves on the diamond necklace which clasped her throat, quivering with a thousand gleaming lights. "You are well cared for," she said, with a harsh, grating laugh, that vibrated strangely on the girl's ear. "You have the good things of life, while I have only the hardships. I am a fool to endure it. I have come to you to-night to help me--and you must do it." "Put the key in that door instantly, or I shall cry out for assistance. I have heard of insolence of beggars, but certainly this is beyond all imagination. How dare you force your obnoxious presence upon me? I will not listen to another word; you shall suffer for this outrage, woman! Open the door instantly, I say." She did not proceed any further in her breathless defiance of retort; the woman coolly interrupted her with that strange, grating laugh again, as she answered, authoritatively: "I shall not play at cross-purposes with you any longer; it is plainly evident there is little affection lost between us. You will do exactly as I say, Pluma; you may spare yourself a great deal that may be unpleasant--if you not only listen but quietly obey me. Otherwise--" Pluma sprung wildly to her feet. "Obey you! obey you!" She would have screamed the words in her ungovernable rage, had not a look from this woman's eyes, who used her name with such ill-bred familiarity, actually frightened her. "Be sensible and listen to what I intend you shall hear, and, as I said and repeat, obey. You have made a slight mistake in defying me, young lady. I hoped and intended to be your friend and adviser; but since you have taken it into your head to show such an aversion to me, it will be so much the worse for you, for I fully intend you shall act hereafter under my instructions; it has spoiled you allowing you to hold the reins in your own hands unchecked." "Oh, you horrible creature! I shall have you arrested and--" The woman interrupted her gasping, vindictive words again, more imperiously than before. "Hush! not another word; you will not tell any one a syllable of what has passed in this room." "Do you dare threaten me in my own house," cried Pluma, fairly beside herself with passion. "I begin to believe you are not aware to whom you are speaking. You shall not force me to listen. I shall raise the window and cry out to the guests below." "Very well, then. I find I am compelled to tell you something I never intended you should know--something that, unless I am greatly mistaken in my estimate of you, will change your high and mighty notions altogether." The woman was bending so near her, her breath almost scorched her cheek. "I want money," she said, her thin lips quivering in an evil smile, "and it is but right that you should supply me with it. Look at the diamonds, representing a fortune, gleaming on your throat, while I am lacking the necessaries of life." "What is that to me?" cried Pluma, scornfully. "Allow me to pass from the room, and I will send my maid back to you with a twenty-dollar note. My moments are precious; do not detain me." The woman laughed contemptuously. "Twenty dollars, indeed!" she sneered, mockingly. "Twenty thousand will not answer my purpose. From this time forth I intend to live as befits a lady. I want that necklace you are wearing, as security that you will produce the required sum for me before to-morrow night." The coarse proposal amazed Pluma. "I thought Whitestone Hall especially guarded against thieves," she said, steadily. "You seem to be a desperate woman; but I, Pluma Hurlhurst, do not fear you. We will pass over the remarks you have just uttered as simply beyond discussion." With a swift, gliding motion she attempted to reach the bell-rope. Again the woman intercepted her. "Arouse the household if you dare!" hissed the woman, tightening her hold upon the white arm upon which the jewels flashed and quivered. "If Basil Hurlhurst knew what I know you would be driven from this house before an hour had passed." "I--I--do not know what you mean," gasped Pluma, her great courage and fortitude sinking before this woman's fearlessness and defiant authority. "No, you don't know what I mean; and little you thank me for carrying the treacherous secret since almost the hour of your birth. It is time for you to know the truth at last. You are not the heiress of Whitestone Hall--you are not Basil Hurlhurst's child!" Pluma's face grew deathly white; a strange mist seemed gathering before her. "I can not--seem--to--grasp--what you mean, or who you are to terrify me so." A mocking smile played about the woman's lips as she replied, in a slow, even, distinct voice: "I am your mother, Pluma!" _

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