CHAPTER II.
One bright May morning some sixteen years later, the golden sunshinewas just putting forth its first crimson rays, lighting up theivy-grown turrets of Whitestone Hall, and shining upon a little whitecottage nestling in a bower of green leaves far to the right of it,where dwelt John Brooks, the overseer of the Hurlhurst plantation.
For sixteen years the grand old house had remained closed--theplantation being placed in charge of a careful overseer. Once againWhitestone Hall was thrown open to welcome the master, BasilHurlhurst, who had returned from abroad, bringing with him hisbeautiful daughter and a party of friends.
The interior of the little cottage was astir with bustling activity.
It was five o'clock; the chimes had played the hour; the laborers weregoing to the fields, and the dairy-maids were beginning their work.
In the door-way of the cottage stood a tall, angular woman, shadingher flushed and heated face from the sun's rays with her hand.
"Daisy, Daisy!" she calls, in a harsh, rasping voice, "where are you,you good-for-nothing lazy girl? Come into the house directly, I say."Her voice died away over the white stretches of waving cotton, but noDaisy came. "Here's a pretty go," she cried, turning into the roomwhere her brother sat calmly finishing his morning meal, "a pretty go,indeed! I promised Miss Pluma those white mulls should be sent over toher the first thing in the morning. She will be in a towering rage,and no wonder, and like enough you'll lose your place, John Brooks,and 'twill serve you right, too, for encouraging that lazy girl in heridleness."
"Don't be too hard on little Daisy, Septima," answered John Brooks,timidly, reaching for his hat. "She will have the dresses at the Hallin good time, I'll warrant."
"Too hard, indeed; that's just like you men; no feeling for your poor,overworked sister, so long as that girl has an easy life of it. It wasa sorry day for _me_ when your aunt Taiza died, leaving this girl toour care."
A deep flush mantled John Brooks' face, but he made no retort, whileSeptima energetically piled the white fluted laces in the hugebasket--piled it full to the brim, until her arm ached with the weightof it--the basket which was to play such a fatal part in the truantDaisy's life--the life which for sixteen short years had been somonotonous.
Over the corn-fields half hid by the clover came a young girl trippinglightly along. John Brooks paused in the path as he caught sight ofher. "Poor, innocent little Daisy!" he muttered half under his breath,as he gazed at her quite unseen.
Transferred to canvas, it would have immortalized a painter. No wonderthe man's heart softened as he gazed. He saw a glitter of goldencurls, and the scarlet gleam of a mantle--a young girl, tall andslender, with rounded, supple limbs, and a figure graceful in everyline and curve--while her arms, bare to the elbow, would have charmeda sculptor. Cheek and lips were a glowing rosy red--while her eyes, ofthe deepest and darkest blue, were the merriest that ever gazed up tothe summer sunshine.
Suddenly from over the trees there came the sound of the great bell atthe Hall. Daisy stood quite still in alarm.
"It is five o'clock!" she cried. "What shall I do? Aunt Septima willbe so angry with me; she promised Miss Pluma her white dresses shouldbe at the Hall by five, and it is that already."
Poor little Daisy! no wonder her heart throbbed painfully and the lookof fear deepened in her blue eyes as she sped rapidly up the path thatled to the little cottage where Septima grimly awaited her withflushed face and flashing eyes.
"So," she said, harshly, "you are come at last, are you? and a prettyfright you have given me. You shall answer to Miss Pluma _herself_ forthis. I dare say you will never attempt to offend her a second time."
"Indeed, Aunt Septima, I never dreamed it was so late," criedconscious Daisy. "I was watching the sun rise over the cotton-fields,and watching the dewdrops glittering on the corn, thinking of thebeautiful heiress of Whitestone Hall. I am so sorry I forgot about thedresses."
Hastily catching up the heavy basket, she hurried quickly down thepath, like a startled deer, to escape the volley of wrath theindignant spinster hurled after her.
It was a beautiful morning; no cloud was in the smiling heavens; thesun shone brightly, and the great oak and cedar-trees that skirted theroadside seemed to thrill with the song of birds. Butterflies spreadtheir light wings and coquetted with the fragrant blossoms, and busyhumming-bees buried themselves in the heart of the crimson wild rose.The basket was very heavy, and poor little Daisy's hands ached withthe weight of it.
"If I might but rest for a few moments only," she said to herself,eying the cool, shady grass by the roadside. "Surely a moment or twowill not matter. Oh, dear, I am so tired!"
She set the basket down on the cool, green grass, flinging herselfbeside it beneath the grateful shade of a blossoming magnolia-tree,resting her golden head against the basket of filmy laces that were toadorn the beautiful heiress of whom she had heard so much, yet neverseen, and of whom every one felt in such awe.
She looked wistfully at the great mansion in the distance, thinkinghow differently her own life had been.
The soft, wooing breeze fanned her cheeks, tossing about her goldencurls in wanton sport. It was so pleasant to sit there in the dreamysilence watching the white fleecy clouds, the birds, and the flowers,it was little wonder the swift-winged moments flew heedlessly by.Slowly the white lids drooped over the light-blue eyes, the long,golden lashes lay against the rosy cheeks, the ripe lips parted in asmile--all unheeded were the fluted laces--Daisy slept. Oh, cruelbreeze--oh, fatal wooing breeze to have infolded hapless Daisy in yoursoft embrace!
Over the hills came the sound of baying hounds, followed by a quick,springy step through the crackling underbrush, as a young man inclose-fitting velvet hunting-suit and jaunty velvet cap emerged fromthe thicket toward the main road.
As he parted the magnolia branches the hound sprang quickly forward atsome object beneath the tree, with a low, hoarse growl.
"Down, Towser, down!" cried Rex Lyon, leaping lightly over someintervening brushwood. "What kind of game have we here? Whew!" heejaculated, surprisedly; "a young girl, pretty as a picture, and, bythe eternal, fast asleep, too!"
Still Daisy slept on, utterly unconscious of the handsome brown eyesthat were regarding her so admiringly.
"I have often heard of fairies, but this is the first time I have evercaught one napping under the trees. I wonder who she is anyhow? Surelyshe can not be some drudging farmer's daughter with a form and facelike that?" he mused, suspiciously eying the basket of freshlylaundered laces against which the flushed cheeks and waving goldenhair rested.
Just then his ludicrous position struck him forcibly.
"Come, Towser," he said, "it would never do for you and me to becaught staring at this pretty wood-nymph so rudely, if she should bychance awaken just now."
Tightening the strap of his game-bag over his shoulder, andreadjusting his velvet cap jauntily over his brown curls, Rex wasabout to resume his journey in the direction of Whitestone Hall, whenthe sound of rapidly approaching carriage-wheels fell upon his ears.Realizing his awkward position, Rex knew the wisest course he couldpossibly pursue would be to screen himself behind the magnoliabranches until the vehicle should pass. The next instant a pair ofprancing ponies, attached to a basket phaeton, in which sat a younggirl, who held them well in check, dashed rapidly up the road. Rexcould scarcely repress an exclamation of surprise as he saw theoccupant was his young hostess, Pluma Hurlhurst of Whitestone Hall.She drew rein directly in front of the sleeping girl, and Rex Lyonnever forgot, to his dying day, the discordant laugh that broke fromher red lips--a laugh which caused poor Daisy to start from herslumber in wild alarm, scattering the snowy contents of the basket inall directions.
For a single instant their eyes met--these two girls, whose lives wereto cross each other so strangely--poor Daisy, like a frightened bird,as she guessed intuitively at the identity of the other; Pluma,haughty, derisive, and scornfully mocking.
"You are the person whom Miss Brooks sent to
Whitestone Hall with mymull dresses some three hours since, I presume. May I ask whatdetained you?"
Poor Daisy was quite crestfallen; great tear-drops trembled on herlong lashes. How could she answer? She had fallen asleep, wooed by thelulling breeze and the sunshine.
"The basket was so heavy," she answered, timidly, "and I--I--sat downto rest a few moments, and--"
"Further explanation is quite unnecessary," retorted Pluma, sharply,gathering up the reins. "See that you have those things at the Hallwithin ten minutes; not an instant later."
Touching the prancing ponies with her ivory-handled whip, the haughtyyoung heiress whirled leisurely down the road, leaving Daisy, withflushed face and tear-dimmed eyes, gazing after her.
"Oh, dear, I wish I had never been born," she sobbed, flinging herselfdown on her knees, and burying her face in the long, cool grass. "Noone ever speaks a kind word to me but poor old Uncle John, and even hedare not be kind when Aunt Septima is near. She might have taken thisheavy basket in her carriage," sighed Daisy, bravely lifting the heavyburden in her delicate arms.
"That is just what I think," muttered Rex Lyon from his place ofconcealment, savagely biting his lip.
In another moment he was by her side.
"Pardon me," he said, deferentially raising his cap from his glossycurls, "that basket is too heavy for your slender arms. Allow me toassist you."
In a moment the young girl stood up, and made the prettiest and mostgraceful of courtesies as she raised to his a face he never forgot.Involuntarily he raised his cap again in homage to her youth, and hershy sweet beauty.
"No; I thank you, sir, I have not far to carry the basket," shereplied, in a voice sweet as the chiming of silver bells--a voice thatthrilled him, he could not tell why.
A sudden desire possessed Rex to know who she was and from whence shecame.
"Do you live at the Hall?" he asked.
"No," she replied, "I am Daisy Brooks, the overseer's niece."
"Daisy Brooks," said Rex, musingly. "What a pretty name! how well itsuits you!"
He watched the crimson blushes that dyed her fair young face--shenever once raised her dark-blue eyes to his. The more Rex looked ather the more he admired this coy, bewitching, pretty little maiden.She made a fair picture under the boughs of the magnolia-tree, thickwith odorous pink-and-white tinted blossoms, the sunbeams falling onher golden hair.
The sunshine or the gentle southern wind brought Rex no warning he wasforging the first links of a dreadful tragedy. He thought only of theshy blushing beauty and coy grace of the young girl--he never dreamedof the hour when he should look back to that moment, wondering at hisown blind folly, with a curse on his lips.
Again from over the trees came the sound of the great bell from theHall.
"It is eight o'clock," cried Daisy, in alarm. "Miss Pluma will be soangry with me."
"Angry!" said Rex; "angry with you! For what?"
"She is waiting for the mull dresses," replied Daisy.
It was a strange idea to him that any one should dare be angry withthis pretty gentle Daisy.
"You will at least permit me to carry your basket as far as the gate,"he said, shouldering her burden without waiting for a reply. Daisy hadno choice but to follow him. "There," said Rex, setting the basketdown by the plantation gate, which they had reached all too soon, "youmust go, I suppose. It seems hard to leave the bright sunshine to goindoors."
"I--I shall soon return," said Daisy, with innocent frankness.
"Shall you?" cried Rex. "Will you return home by the same path?"
"Yes," she replied, "if Miss Pluma does not need me."
"Good-bye, Daisy," he said. "I shall see you again."
He held out his hand and her little fingers trembled and fluttered inhis clasp. Daisy looked so happy yet so frightened, so charming yet soshy, Rex hardly knew how to define the feeling that stirred in hisheart.
He watched the graceful, fairy figure as Daisy tripped away--insteadof thinking he had done a very foolish thing that bright morning. Rexlighted a cigar and fell to dreaming of sweet little Daisy Brooks, andwondering how he should pass the time until he should see her again.
While Daisy almost flew up the broad gravel path to the house, theheavy burden she bore seemed light as a feather--no thought that shehad been imprudent ever entered her mind.
There was no one to warn her of the peril which lay in the witchingdepths of the handsome stranger's glances.
All her young life she had dreamed of the hero who would one day cometo her, just such a dream as all youthful maidens experience--an idolthey enshrine in their innermost heart, and worship in secret, neverdreaming of a cold, dark time when the idol may lie shattered in ruinsat their feet. How little knew gentle Daisy Brooks of the fatal lovewhich would drag her down to her doom!
Daisy Brooks; Or, A Perilous Love Page 2