Daisy Brooks Part 41

Love must have something to do with it, he thought, grimly. Whenever he saw such a hopeless, despairing look on a young and beautiful face he always set it down as a love case in his own mind, and in nine cases out of ten he was right.

"Ah! it is the old, old story," he muttered. "A pretty, romantic school-girl, and some handsome, reckless lover," and something very much like an imprecation broke from his lips, thorough man of the world though he was, as he ruminated on the wickedness of men.

Two days before the marriage of Rex and Pluma was to be solemnized, poor little Daisy awoke to consciousness, her blue eyes resting on the joyous face of Mrs. Tudor, who bent over her with bated breath, gazing into the upraised eyes, turned so wonderingly upon her.

"You are to keep perfectly quiet, my dear," said Mrs. Tudor, pleasantly, laying her hands on Daisy's lips as she attempted to speak. "You must not try to talk or to think; turn your face from the light, and go quietly to sleep for a bit, then you shall say what you please."

Daisy wondered who the lady was, as she obeyed her like an obedient, tired child--the voice seemed so motherly, so kind, and so soothing, as she lay there, trying to realize how she came there. Slowly all her senses struggled into life, her memory came back, her mind and brain grew clear. Then she remembered walking into the cool, shady garden, and the dizziness which seemed to fall over her so suddenly. "I must have fainted last night," she thought. She also remembered Pluma bending so caressingly over her young husband in the moonlight, and that the sight had almost driven her mad, and, despite her efforts to suppress her emotion, she began to sob aloud.

Mrs. Tudor hurried quickly to the bedside. She saw at once the ice from the frozen fountain of memory had melted.

"If you have any great sorrow on your mind, my dear, and wish to see Mr. Tudor, I will call him at once. He is in the parlor."

"Please don't," sobbed Daisy. "I don't want to see anybody. I must go home to Uncle John at once. Have I been here all night?"

"Why, bless your dear little heart, you have been here many a night and many a week. We thought at one time you would surely die."

"I wish I had," moaned Daisy. In the bitterness of her sorely wounded heart she said to herself that Providence had done everything for her without taking her life.

"We thought," pursued Mrs. Tudor, gently, "that perhaps you desired to see my husband--he is a detective--upon some matter. You fainted when you were just within the gate."

"Was it your garden?" asked Daisy, surprisedly. "I thought it was a park!"

"Then you were not in search of Mr. Tudor, my dear?" asked his wife, quite mystified.

"No," replied Daisy. "I wanted to get away from every one who knew me, or every one I knew, except Uncle John."

"I shall not question her concerning herself to-day," Mrs. Tudor thought. "I will wait a bit until she is stronger." She felt delicate about even asking her name. "She will seek my confidence soon," she thought. "I must wait."

Mrs. Tudor was a kind-hearted little soul. She tried every possible means of diverting Daisy's attention from the absorbing sorrow which seemed consuming her.

She read her choice, sparkling paragraphs from the papers, commenting upon them, in a pretty, gossiping way.

Nothing seemed to interest the pretty little creature, or bring a smile to the quivering, childish lips.

"Ah! here is something quite racy!" she cried, drawing her chair up closer to the bedside. "_A scandal in high life._ This is sure to be entertaining."

Mrs. Tudor was a good little woman, but, like all women in general, she delighted in a spicy scandal.

A handsome stranger had married a beautiful heiress. For a time all went merry as a marriage-bell. Suddenly a second wife appeared on the scene, of which no one previously knew the existence. The husband had sincerely believed himself separated by law from wife number one, but through some technicality of the law, the separation was p.r.o.nounced illegal, and the beautiful heiress bitterly realized to her cost that she was no wife.

"It must be a terrible calamity to be placed in such a predicament,"

cried Mrs. Tudor, energetically. "I blame the husband for not finding out beyond a doubt that he was free from his first wife."

A sudden thought seemed to come to Daisy, so startling it almost took her breath away.

"Supposing a husband left his wife, and afterward thought her dead, even though she were not, and he should marry again, would it not be legal? Supposing the poor, deserted wife knew of it, but allowed him to marry that some one else, because she believed he was unhappy with herself, would it not be legal?" she repeated in an intense voice, striving to appear calm.

"I can scarcely understand the question, my dear. I should certainly say, if the first wife knew her husband was about to remarry, and she knew she was not separated from him by law or death, she was certainly a criminal in allowing the ceremony to proceed. Why, did you ever hear of such a peculiar case, my dear?"

"No," replied Daisy, flus.h.i.+ng crimson. "I was thinking of Enoch Arden."

"Why, there is scarcely a feature in Enoch Arden's case resembling the one you have just cited. You must have made a mistake?"

"Yes; you are right. I have made a mistake," muttered Daisy, growing deadly pale. "I did not know. I believed it was right."

"You believed what was right?" asked Mrs. Tudor, in amazement.

"I believed it was right for the first wife to go out of her husband's life if she had spoiled it, and leave him free to woo and win the bride he loved," replied Daisy, pitifully embarra.s.sed.

"Why, you innocent child," laughed Mrs. Tudor, "I have said he would _not_ be free as long as the law did not separate him from his first wife, and she was alive. It is against the law of Heaven for any man to have two wives; and if the first wife remained silent and saw the sacred ceremony profaned by that silence, she broke the law of Heaven--a sin against G.o.d beyond pardon. Did you speak?" she asked, seeing Daisy's white lips move.

She did not know a prayer had gone up to G.o.d from that young tortured heart for guidance.

Had she done wrong in letting Rex and the whole world believe her dead? Was it ever well to do a wrong that good should come from it?

And the clear, innocent, simple conscience was quick to answer, "No!"

Poor Daisy looked at the position in every possible way, and the more she reflected the more frightened she became.

Poor, little, artless child-bride, she was completely bewildered. She could find no way out of her difficulty until the idea occurred to her that the best person to help her would be John Brooks; and her whole heart and soul fastened eagerly on this.

She could not realize she had lain ill so long. Oh, Heaven, what might have happened in the meantime, if Rex should marry Pluma? She would not be his wife because _she_--who was a barrier between them--lived.

CHAPTER x.x.xV.

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

"I can never go back to Rex," she thought, wearily. "I have spoiled his 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," said Mrs. Tudor, briskly, noting the thoughtful expression of the fair young face. "Such cases as I have just read you are fortunately rare.

I should not have read you the scandals. Young girls like to hear about the marriages best. Ah! here is one that is interesting--a grand wedding which is to take place at Whitestone Hall, in Allendale, to-morrow night. I have read of it before; it will be a magnificent affair. The husband-to-be, Mr. Rexford Lyon, is very wealthy; and the bride, Miss Pluma Hurlhurst, is quite a society belle--a beauty and an heiress."

Poor Daisy! although she had long expected it, the announcement seemed like a death-blow to her loving little heart; in a single instant all her yearning, pa.s.sionate love for her handsome young husband awoke into new life.

She had suddenly awakened to the awful reality that her husband was about 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 she allowed it to go on, she would be guilty of a crime; therefore, she must prevent it.

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

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