Daisy Brooks; Or, A Perilous Love

by Laura Jean Libbey

  CHAPTER XXXV.

  Daisy had decided the great question of her life. Yes, she would go toJohn Brooks with her pitiful secret, and, kneeling at his feet, tellhim all, and be guided by his judgment.

  "I can never go back to Rex," she thought, wearily. "I have spoiledhis life; he does not love me; he wished to be free and marry Pluma."

  "You must not think of the troubles of other people, my dear," saidMrs. Tudor, briskly, noting the thoughtful expression of the fairyoung face. "Such cases as I have just read you are fortunately rare.I should not have read you the scandals. Young girls like to hearabout the marriages best. Ah! here is one that is interesting--a grandwedding which is to take place at Whitestone Hall, in Allendale,to-morrow night. I have read of it before; it will be a magnificentaffair. The husband-to-be, Mr. Rexford Lyon, is very wealthy; and thebride, Miss Pluma Hurlhurst, is quite a society belle--a beauty and anheiress."

  Poor Daisy! although she had long expected it, the announcement seemedlike a death-blow to her loving little heart; in a single instant allher yearning, passionate love for her handsome young husband awokeinto new life.

  She had suddenly awakened to the awful reality that her husband wasabout to marry another.

  "Oh, pitiful Heaven, what shall I do?" she cried, wringing her hands."I will be too late to warn them. Yet I must--I must! It must not be!"she cried out to herself; "the marriage would be wrong." If sheallowed it to go on, she would be guilty of a crime; therefore, shemust prevent it.

  Pluma was her mortal enemy. Yet she must warn her that the flower-coveredpath she was treading led to a precipice. The very thought filled hersoul with horror.

  She wasted no more time in thinking, she must act.

  "I can not go to poor old Uncle John first," she told herself. "I mustgo at once to Pluma. Heaven give me strength to do it. Rex will neverknow, and I can go quietly out of his life again."

  The marriage must not be! Say, think, argue with herself as she would,she could not help owning to herself that it was something that mustbe stopped at any price. She had not realized it in its true lightbefore. She had had a vague idea that her supposed death would leaveRex free to marry Pluma. That wrong could come of it, in any way, shenever once dreamed.

  The terrible awakening truth had flashed upon her suddenly; she mighthide herself forever from her husband, but it would not lessen thefact; she, and she only, was his lawful wife before God and man. FromHeaven nothing could be hidden.

  Her whole heart seemed to go out to her young husband and cling to himas it had never done before.

  "What a fatal love mine was!" she said to herself; "how fatal, howcruel to me!"

  To-morrow night! Oh, Heaven! would she be in time to save him? Thevery thought seemed to arouse all her energy.

  "Why, what are you going to do, my dear?" cried Mrs. Tudor, inconsternation, as Daisy staggered, weak and trembling, from hercouch.

  "I am going away," she cried. "I have been guilty of a great wrong. Ican not tell you all that I have done, but I must atone for it if itis in my power while yet there is time. Pity me, but do not censureme;" and sobbing as if her heart would break, she knelt at the feet ofthe kind friend Heaven had given her and told her all.

  Mrs. Tudor listened in painful interest and amazement. It was astrange story this young girl told her; it seemed more like a romancethan a page from life's history.

  "You say you must prevent this marriage at Whitestone Hall." She tookDaisy's clasped hands from her weeping face, and holding them in herown looked into it silently, keenly, steadily. "How could you do it?What is Rexford Lyon to you?"

  Lower and lower drooped the golden bowed head, and a voice like noother voice, like nothing human, said:

  "I am Rex Lyon's wife, his wretched, unhappy, abandoned wife."

  Mrs. Tudor dropped her hands with a low cry of dismay.

  "You will keep my secret," sobbed Daisy; and in her great sorrow shedid not notice the lady did not promise.

  In vain Mrs. Tudor pleaded with her to go back to her husband and beghim to hear her.

  "No," said Daisy, brokenly. "He said I had spoiled his life, and hewould never forgive me. I have never taken his name, and I nevershall. I will be Daisy Brooks until I die."

  "Daisy Brooks!" The name seemed familiar to Mrs. Tudor, yet she couldnot tell where she had heard it before.

  Persuasion was useless. "Perhaps Heaven knows best," sighed Mrs.Tudor, and with tears in her eyes (for she had really loved thebeautiful young stranger, thrown for so many long weeks upon her mercyand kindness) she saw Daisy depart.

  "May God grant you may not be too late!" she cried, fervently,clasping the young girl, for the last time, in her arms.

  Too late! The words sounded like a fatal warning to her. No, no; shecould not, she must not, be too late!

  * * * * *

  At the very moment Daisy had left the detective's house, BasilHurlhurst was closeted with Mr. Tudor in his private office, relatingminutely the disappearance of his infant daughter, as told him by thedying housekeeper, Mrs. Corliss.

  "I will make you a rich man for life," he cried, vehemently, "if youcan trace my long-lost child, either dead or alive!"

  Mr. Tudor shook his head. "I am inclined to think there is littlehope, after all these years."

  "Stranger things than that have happened," cried Basil Hurlhurst,tremulously. "You must give me hope, Mr. Tudor. You are a skillful,expert detective; you will find her, if any one can. If my other childwere living," he continued, with an effort, "you know it would makeconsiderable difference in the distribution of my property. On thenight my lost child was born I made my will, leaving Whitestone Halland the Hurlhurst Plantations to the child just born, and theremainder of my vast estates I bequeathed to my daughter Pluma. Ibelieved my little child buried with its mother, and in all theseyears that followed I never changed that will--it still stands. Mydaughter Pluma is to be married to-morrow night. I have not told herof the startling discovery I have made; for if anything should come ofit, her hopes of a lifetime would be dashed. She believes herself soleheiress to my wealth. I have made up my mind, however," he continued,eagerly, "to confide in the young man who is to be my futureson-in-law. If nothing ever comes of this affair, Pluma need neverknow of it."

  "That would be a wise and safe plan," assented the detective.

  "Wealth can have no influence over him," continued the father,reflectively; "for Mr. Rex Lyon's wealth is sufficient for them, evenif they never had a single dollar from me; still, it is best tomention this matter to him."

  Rex Lyon! Ah! the detective remembered him well--the handsome,debonair young fellow who had sought his services some time since,whose wife had died such a tragic death. He remembered how sorry hehad been for the young husband; still he made no comment. He hadlittle time to ruminate upon past affairs. It was his business now toglean from Mr. Hurlhurst all the information possible to assist him inthe difficult search he was about to commence. If he gave him even theslightest clew, he could have had some definite starting point. Thedetective was wholly at sea--it was like looking for a needle in ahay-stack.

  "You will lose no time," said Basil Hurlhurst, rising to depart. "Ah!"he exclaimed, "I had forgotten to leave you my wife's portrait. I havea fancy the child, if living, must have her mother's face."

  At that opportune moment some one interrupted them. Mr. Tudor had nottime to open the portrait and examine it then, and, placing itsecurely in his private desk, he courteously bade Mr. Hurlhurstgood-afternoon; adding, if he _should_ find a possible clew, he wouldlet him know at once, or, perhaps, take a run up to Whitestone Hall tolook around a bit among the old inhabitants of that locality.

  It was almost time for quitting the office for the night, when thedetective thought of the portrait. He untied the faded blue ribbon,and touched the spring; the case flew open, revealing a face that madehim cry out in amazement:

  "Pshaw! people have a strange trick of resembling each other veryoften
," he muttered; "I must be mistaken."

  Yet the more he examined the fair, bewitching face of the portrait,with its childish face and sunny, golden curls, the more he knit hisbrow and whistled softly to himself--a habit he had when thinkingdeeply.

  He placed the portrait in his breast-pocket, and walked slowly home. Abrilliant idea was in his active brain.

  "I shall soon see," he muttered.

  His wife met him at the door, and he saw that her eyes were red withweeping.

  "What is the commotion, my dear?" he asked, hanging his hat and coaton the hat-rack in the hall. "What's the difficulty?"

  "Our protegee has gone, Harvey; she--"

  "Gone!" yelled the detective, frantically, "where did she go? How longhas she been gone?"

  Down from the rack came his hat and coat.

  "Where are you going, Harvey?"

  "I am going to hunt that girl up just as fast as I can."

  "She did not wish to see you, my dear."

  "I haven't the time to explain to you," he expostulated. "Of course,you have no idea where she went, have you?"

  "Wait a bit, Harvey," she replied, a merry twinkle in her eye. "Youhave given me no time to tell you. I do know where she went. Sit downand I will tell you all about it."

  "You will make a long story out of nothing," he exclaimed, impatiently;"and fooling my time here may cost me a fortune."

  Very reluctantly Mr. Tudor resumed his seat at his wife's earnestpersuasion.

  "Skim lightly over the details, my dear; just give me the mainpoints," he said.

  Like the good little wife she was, Mrs. Tudor obediently obeyed.

  It was not often the cool, calculating detective allowed himself toget excited, but as she proceeded he jumped up from his seat, andpaced restlessly up and down the room. He was literally astounded.

  "Rex Lyon's wife," he mused, thoughtfully. "Well, in all the years ofmy experience I have never come across anything like this. She hasgone to Whitestone Hall, you say, to stop the marriage?" hequestioned, eagerly.

  "Yes," she replied, "the poor child was almost frantic over it. Youseem greatly agitated, Harvey. Have you some new case connected withher?"

  "Yes," he answered, grimly. "I think I have two cases."

  Mr. Tudor seldom brought his business perplexities to his fireside.His little wife knew as little of business matters as the sparrowstwittering on the branches of the trees out in the garden.

  He made up his mind not to mention certain suspicions that had lodgedin his mind until he saw his way clearly out of the complicatedaffair.

  He determined it would do no harm to try an experiment, however.Suiting the action to the thought, he drew out the portrait from hispocket.

  "I do not think I shall have as much trouble with this affair as Ianticipated."

  Mrs. Tudor came and leaned over his shoulder.

  "Whose picture have you there, Harvey? Why, I declare," she cried, inamazement, "if it isn't Daisy Brooks!"

  "Mrs. Rex Lyon, you mean," said the detective, with a sly twinkle inhis eye. "But for once in your life you are at sea--and far fromshore; this portrait represents a different person altogether. Come,come, wife, get me a cup of tea--quick--and a biscuit," he cried,leading the way to the kitchen, where the savory supper was cooking."I haven't time to wait for tea, I must overtake that girl before shereaches Whitestone Hall."