Daisy Brooks; Or, A Perilous Love
Page 7
CHAPTER VII.
"Poor little Daisy!" cried John Brooks, wiping away a suspiciousmoisture from his eyes with his rough, toil-hardened hand, "she takesit pretty hard now; but the time will come when she will thank me forit. Heaven knows there's nothing in this world more valuable than aneducation; and she will need it, poor little, motherless child!"
As the stage drove up before the station Daisy opened her blue eyeswith a sigh. "I can at least write to Rex at once," she thought, "andexplain the whole matter to him." Daisy smiled as she thought Rexwould be sure to follow on the very next train.
John Brooks watched the smile and the flush of the rosy face, andbelieved Daisy was beginning to feel more reconciled about going toschool.
"I hope we will get there by noon," said John, anxiously, taking theseat beside her on the crowded train. "If we missed the train at thecross-roads it would be a serious calamity. I should be obliged tosend you on alone; for I _must_ get to New York by night, as I havesome very important business to transact for the plantation whichmust be attended to at once."
"Alone!" echoed Daisy, tremblingly. "Why, Uncle John, I was never awayfrom home alone in my life!"
"That's just the difficulty," he answered, perplexedly. "I have alwaysguarded my little flower from the world's cruel blasts, and you areunused to the rough side of life."
"Still, I _could_ go on alone," persisted Daisy, bravely.
John Brooks laughed outright.
"You would get lost at the first corner, my girlie! Then I should haveto fly around to these newspaper offices, advertising for the recoveryof a little country Daisy which was either lost, strayed, or stolen.No, no, little one!" he cried; "I would not trust you alone, astranger in a great city. A thousand ills might befall a young girlwith a face like yours."
"No one would know I was a stranger," replied Daisy, innocently. "Ishould simply inquire the way to Madame Whitney's, and follow thedirections given me."
"There! didn't I tell you you could never find the way?" laughed Johnuntil he was red in the face. "You suppose a city is like our countrylanes, eh?--where you tell a stranger: 'Follow that path until youcome to a sign-post, then that will tell you which road leads to thevillage.' Ha! ha! ha! Why, my dear little Daisy, not one person in ahundred whom you might meet ever heard of Madame Whitney! In citiespeople don't know their very neighbors personally. They are sure tofind out if there's any scandal afloat about them--and that is allthey do know about them. You would have a lively time of it findingMadame Whitney's without your old uncle John to pilot you through, Ican tell you."
Daisy's last hope was nipped in the bud. She had told herself, if shewere left alone, she could send a telegram back at once to Rex, and hewould join her, and she would not have to go to school--school, whichwould separate a girl-bride from her handsome young husband, of whomshe was fast learning to be so fond.
"I could have sent you under the care of Mr. Stanwick," continuedJohn, thoughtfully. "He started for the city yesterday--but I did notreceive Madame Whitney's letter in time."
He did not notice, as he spoke, that the occupant in the seat directlyin front of them gave a perceptible start, drawing the broad slouchhat he wore, which concealed his features so well, still further overhis face, while a cruel smile lingered for a moment about the handsomemouth.
The stranger appeared deeply interested in the columns of the paper heheld before him; but in reality he was listening attentively to theconversation going on behind him.
"I shall not lose sight of this pretty little girl," said LesterStanwick to himself, for it was he. "No power on earth shall save herfrom me. I shall win her from him--by fair means or foul. It will be aglorious revenge!"
"Madame Whitney's seminary is a very high-toned institution,"continued John, reflectively; "and the young girls I saw there wore noend of furbelows and ribbons; but I'll warrant for fresh, sweet beautyyou'll come out ahead of all of 'em, Pet."
"You think so much of me, dear good old uncle," cried Daisy,gratefully. "I--I wonder if any one in the world could ever--couldever care for me as--as you do?" whispered Daisy, laying her soft,warm cheek against his rough hand.
"No one but a husband," he responded, promptly. "But you are too youngto have such notions in your head yet awhile. Attend to your books,and don't think of beaus. Now that we are on the subject, I might aswell speak out what I've had on my mind some time back. I don't wantmy little Daisy to fall in love with any of these strangers shehappens to meet. You are too young to know anything about loveaffairs. You'll never rightly understand it until it comes to you. Imust know all about the man who wants my little Daisy. Whatever youdo, little one, do upright and honestly. And, above all, never deceiveme. I have often heard of these romantic young school-girls falling inlove with handsome strangers, and clandestine meetings following,ending in elopements; but, mark my words, no good comes of thesedeceptions--forewarned is forearmed. Daisy, you'll always remember mywords, and say to yourself: 'He knows what is best.' You will rememberwhat I say, won't you, Pet?"
He wondered why the fair, sweet face grew as pale as a snow-drop, andthe cold little fingers trembled in his clasp, and the velvety eyesdrooped beneath his earnest gaze.
"Yes," whispered Daisy; "I shall remember what you have said."
In spite of her efforts to speak naturally and calmly the sweet voicewould tremble.
"Bal--ti--more!" shouted the brakeman, lustily. "Twenty minutes forbreakfast. Change cars for the north and west!"
"Ah, here we are!" cried John, hastily gathering up their satchels andinnumerable bundles. "We must make haste to reach the uptown omnibusto get a seat, or we shall have to stand and cling to the strap allthe way up. I'm an old traveler, you see. There's nothing like knowingthe ins and outs."
"Have a coach uptown, sir? Take you to any part of the city. Coach,sir?" cried innumerable hackmen, gathering about them.
Daisy tightened her hold on John's arm. She quite believed theyintended to pick her up and put her in the coach by main force. One ofthem was actually walking off with her reticule.
"Hold there, young man," cried John, quickly, recovering the satchel."Don't make yourself uneasy on our account. We would be pleased toride in your conveyance if you don't charge anything. We have nomoney."
The loquacious hackmen fell back as if by magic. Daisy was blushinglike a rose, terribly embarrassed. John Brooks laughed long andheartily.
"That's the quickest way in the world to rid yourself of thosetorments," he declared, enjoying his little joke hugely. "Why, Daisy,if you had come on alone some of those chaps would have spirited youaway without even saying so much as 'by your leave.'"
Mme. Whitney's Seminary for Young Ladies was a magnificent structure,situated in the suburbs of Baltimore. On either side of the pebbledwalk which led to the main entrance were tall fountains tossing theirrainbow-tinted sprays up to the summer sunshine. The lawn in front wasclosely shaven, and through the trees in the rear of the buildingcould be seen the broad rolling Chesapeake dancing and sparkling inthe sunlight. The reputation of this institution was second to none.Young ladies were justly proud of being able to say they finishedtheir education at Mme. Whitney's establishment.
As a natural consequence, the school was composed of the _elite_ ofthe South. Clang! clang! clang! sounded the great bell from the belfryas Daisy, with a sinking, homesick feeling stealing over her, walkedslowly up the paved walk by John Brooks' side toward the imposing,aristocratic structure.
Poor little Daisy never forgot that first day at boarding-school; howall the dainty young girls in their soft white muslins glanced insurprise at her when Mme. Whitney brought her into the school-room,but she could have forgiven them for that if they had not laughed ather poor old uncle John, in his plain country garb, and they giggledbehind their handkerchiefs when she clung to his neck and could notsay good-bye through her tears, but sunk down into her seat, leaningher head on her desk, bravely trying to keep back the pearly dropsthat would fall.
When recess
came Daisy did not leave her seat. She would have giventhe world to have heard Rex's voice just then; she was beginning torealize how much his sheltering love was to her. She would even havebeen heartily glad to have been back in the little kitchen at thecottage, no matter how much Septima scolded her.
All the girls here had the same haughty way of tossing their heads andcurling their lips and looking innumerable things out of their eyes,which reminded Daisy so strongly of Pluma Hurlhurst.
Most of the girls had left the school-room, dividing off into groupsand pairs here and there. Daisy sat watching them, feeling wretchedlylonely. Suddenly a soft white hand was laid lightly on her shoulder,and a sweet voice said:
"We have a recess of fifteen minutes, won't you come out into thegrounds with me? I should be so pleased to have you come." The voicewas so gentle, so coaxing, so sweet, Daisy involuntarily glanced up atthe face of the young girl bending over her as she arose to accompanyher. She put her arm around Daisy's waist, school-girl fashion, asthey walked down the lone halls and out to the green grassy lawn. "Myname is Sara Miller," she said; "will you tell me yours?"
"Daisy Brooks," she answered, simply.
"What a pretty name!" cried her new-found friend, enthusiastically,"and how well it suits you! Why, it is a little poem in itself."
Daisy flushed as rosy as the crimson geraniums near them, rememberingRex, her own handsome Rex, had said the same thing that morning he hadcarried her heavy basket to the gates of Whitestone Hall--that morningwhen all the world seemed to change as she glanced up into his merrybrown eyes.
"We are to be room-mates," explained Sara, "and I know I shall likeyou ever so much. Do you think you will like me?"
"Yes," said Daisy. "I like you now."
"Thank you," said Miss Sara, making a mock courtesy. "I am going tolove you with all my might, and if you don't love me you will be themost ungrateful creature in the world. I know just how lonesome youmust be," continued Sara. "I remember just how lonesome I was thefirst day I was away from mamma, and when night set in and I was allalone, and I knew I was securely locked in, I was actually thinking oftearing the sheets of my bed into strips and making a rope of them,and letting myself down to the ground through the window, and makingfor home as fast as I could. I knew I would be brought back the nextday, though," laughed Sara. "Mamma is so strict with me. I supposeyours is too?"
"I have no mother--or father," answered Daisy. "All my life I havelived with John Brooks and his sister Septima, on the HurlhurstPlantation. I call them aunt and uncle. Septima has often told me norelationship at all existed between us."
"You are an orphan, then?" suggested the sympathetic Sara. "Is thereno one in all the world related to you?"
"Yes--no--o," answered Daisy, confusedly, thinking of Rex, her younghusband, and of the dearest relationship in all the world whichexisted between them.
"What a pity," sighed Sara. "Well, Daisy," she cried, impulsively,throwing both her arms around her and giving her a hearty kiss, "youand I will be all the world to each other. I shall tell you all mysecrets and you must tell me yours. There's some girls you can trust,and some you can't. If you tell them your secrets, the first time youhave a spat your secret is a secret no longer. Every girl in theschool knows all about it; of course you are sure to make up again.But," added Sara, with a wise expression, "after you are oncedeceived, you can never trust them again."
"I have never known many girls," replied Daisy. "I do not know howothers do, but I'm sure you can always trust my friendship."
And the two girls sealed their compact with a kiss, just as the greatbell in the belfry rang, warning them they must be at their lessonsagain--recess was over.