Daisy Brooks: or, A Perilous Love

“Rex!” she cried, in a low, hoarse voice, staggering toward him; but he recoiled from her, and she saw Stanwick’s letter in his hands; and she knew in an instant all her treachery was revealed; and without another word–pale as death–but with head proudly erect, she swept with the dignity of a princess from the scene of her bitter defeat, closely followed by her cowering mother.

Rex did not seek to detain her; his eyes had suddenly fallen upon the golden-haired little figure kneeling by Basil Hurlhurst’s chair.

He reached her side at a single bound.

“Oh, Daisy, my darling, my darling!” he cried, snatching her in his arms, and straining her to his breast, as he murmured passionate, endearing words over her.

Suddenly he turned to Mr. Hurlhurst.

“I must explain–”

“That is quite unnecessary, Rex, my boy,” said Mr. Tudor, stepping forward with tears in his eyes; “Mr. Hurlhurst knows all.”

It never occurred to handsome, impulsive Rex to question what Daisy was doing there. He only knew Heaven had restored him his beautiful, idolized child-bride.

“You will forgive my harshness, won’t you, love?” he pleaded. “I will devote my whole life to blot out the past. Can you learn to love me, sweetheart, and forget the cloud that drifted between us?”

A rosy flush suffused the beautiful flower-like face, as Daisy shyly lifted her radiantly love-lighted blue eyes to his face with a coy glance that fairly took his breath away for rapturous ecstasy.

Daisy’s golden head nestled closer on his breast, and two little soft, white arms, whose touch thrilled him through and through, stole round his neck–that was all the answer she made him.

John Brooks had quietly withdrawn from the room; and while Basil Hurlhurst with a proudly glowing face went down among the waiting and expectant guests to unfold to them the marvelous story, and explain why the marriage could not take place, the detective briefly acquainted Rex with the wonderful story.

“I sought and won you when you were simple little Daisy Brooks, and now that you are a wealthy heiress in your own right, you must not love me less.”

Daisy glanced up into her handsome young husband’s face as she whispered, softly:

“Nothing can ever change my love, Rex, unless it is to love you more and more.”

And for answer Rex clasped the little fairy still closer in his arms, kissing the rosy mouth over and over again, as he laughingly replied he was more fortunate than most fellows, being lover and husband all in one.

The announcement created an intense furor among the fluttering maidens down in the spacious parlors. Nobody regretted Pluma’s downfall, although Basil Hurlhurst carefully kept that part of the narrative back.

“Oh, it is just like a romance,” cried Eve Glenn, rapturously; “but still we must not be disappointed, girls; we must have a wedding all the same. Rex and Daisy must be married over again.”

Every one was on the tiptoe of expectancy to see the beautiful little heroine of a double romance.

Eve Glenn, followed by Birdie, found her out at once in the study.

“Oh, you darling!” cried Eve, laughing and crying in one breath, as she hugged and kissed Daisy rapturously; “and just to think you were married all the time, and to Rex, too; above all other fellows in the world, he was just the one I had picked out for you.”

Rex was loath to let Daisy leave him even for a moment. Eve was firm.

“I shall take her to my room and convert her in no time at all into a veritable Cinderella.”

“She is the pretty young girl that carried me from the stone wall, and I have loved her so much ever since, even if I couldn’t remember her name,” cried Birdie, clapping her hands in the greatest glee.

In the din of the excitement, Pluma Hurlhurst shook the dust of Whitestone Hall forever from her feet, muttering maledictions at the happy occupants. She had taken good care to secure all the valuables that she could lay her hands on, which were quite a fortune in themselves, securing her from want for life. She was never heard from more.

Eve Glenn took Daisy to her own room, and there the wonderful transformation began. She dressed Daisy in her own white satin dress, and twined deep crimson passion-roses in the golden curls, clapping her hands–at Daisy’s wondrous beauty–kissing her, and petting her by turns.

“There never was such a little fairy of a bride!” she cried, exultantly leading Daisy to the mirror. “True, you haven’t any diamonds, and I haven’t any to loan you; but who would miss such trifles, gazing at such a bewitching, blushing face and eyes bright as stars? Oh, won’t every one envy Rex, though!”

“Please don’t, Eve,” cried Daisy. “I’m so happy, and you are trying to make me vain.”

A few moments later there was a great hush in the vast parlors below, as Daisy entered the room, leaning tremblingly on Rex’s arm, who looked as happy as a king, and Basil Hurlhurst, looking fully ten years younger than was his wont, walking proudly beside his long-lost daughter.

The storm had died away, and the moon broke through the dark clouds, lighting the earth with a silvery radiance, as Rex and Daisy took their places before the altar, where the ceremony which made them man and wife was for the second time performed.

Heaven’s light never fell on two such supremely happy mortals as were Rex and his bonny blushing bride.

Outside of Whitestone Hall a motley throng was gathering with the rapidity of lightning–the story had gone from lip to lip–the wonderful story of the long-lost heiress and the double romance.

Cheer after cheer rent the air, and telegraph wires were busy with the startling revelations.

The throng around the Hall pressed forward to catch a glimpse of the pretty little bride. Young girls laughed and cried for very joy. Mothers, fathers, and sweethearts fervently cried: “God bless her!”

All night long the bells rang from the church belfries, bonfires were lighted on all the surrounding hills. A telegram was sent to a Baltimore marble firm countermanding a certain order.

All night long the young people danced to the chime of merry music, and all night long the joy-bells pealed from the turrets of Whitestone Hall, and they seemed to echo the chorus of the people. “God bless sweet little Daisy Lyon, the long-lost heiress of Whitestone Hall!”

THE END