Daisy Brooks: or, A Perilous Love

“You see you did wrong to hold me back,” she said, gently. “How am I to live and bear this sorrow that has come upon me? What am I to do?”

She looked around her with the bewildered air of one who had lost her way, with the dazed appearance of one from beneath whose feet the bank of safety has been withdrawn. Hope was dead, and the past a blank.

“No matter what your past has been, my poor child, you must remember there is a future. Take up the burden again, and bear it nobly; go back to your home, and commence life anew.”

“I have no home and no friends,” she sighed, hopelessly.

“Poor child,” he said, pityingly, “is it as bad as that?”

A sudden idea seemed to occur to him.

“You are a perfect stranger to me,” he said, “but I believe you to be an honorable girl, and I should like to befriend you, as I would pray Heaven to befriend a daughter of mine if she were similarly situated. If I should put you in a way of obtaining your own living as companion to an elderly lady in a distant city, would you be willing to take up the tangled threads of your life again, and wait patiently until God saw fit to call you–that is, you would never attempt to take your life into your own hands again?” he asked, slowly. “Remember, such an act is murder, and a murderer can not enter the kingdom of heaven.”

He never forgot the startled, frightened glance that swept over the beautiful face, plainly discernible in the white moonlight, nor the quiver of the sweet, tremulous voice as Daisy answered:

“I think God must have intended me to live, or He would not have sent you here to save me,” she answered, impulsively. “Twice I have been near death, and each time I have been rescued. I never attempted to take my own life but this once. I shall try and accept my fate and live out my weary life.”

“Bravely spoken, my noble girl,” replied her rescuer, heartily.

“I must go far away from here, though,” she continued, shuddering; “I am sorely persecuted here.”

The old man listened gravely to her disconnected, incoherent words, drawing but one conclusion from them–“the lover who had cast her off was pursuing the child, as her relentless foe, to the very verge of death and despair.”

“It is my sister who wants a companion,” he said. “She lives in the South–in Florida. Do you think you would like to go as far away as that?”

“Yes,” said Daisy, mechanically. “I should like to go to the furthest end of the world. It does not matter much where I go!”

How little she knew where fate was drifting her! Rex had not told her his home was in Florida; he meant to tell her that on the morning he was to have met her.

“It will be a long, wearisome journey for you to undertake, still I feel sure you are brave enough to accomplish it in safety.”

“I thank you very much for your confidence in me, sir,” said Daisy, simply.

“Tut, tut, child!” exclaimed the old man, brusquely. “That innocent little face of yours ought to be a passport to any one’s confidence. I don’t think there’s any doubt but what you will get on famously with Maria–that’s my sister Mrs. Glenn–but she’s got three daughters that would put an angel’s temper on edge. They’re my nieces–more’s the pity, for they are regular Tartars. Mrs. Glenn sent for my daughter Alice to come down there; but, Lord bless you, I wouldn’t dare send her! There would be a raging quarrel before twenty-four hours! My Alice has got a temper of her own. But, pshaw! I ought not to frighten you, my dear; they could not help but love you.”

And thus it was Daisy’s fate was unchangeably settled for her.

“There is one thing I would like you to promise me,” she said, timidly, “and that is never to divulge my whereabouts to any one who might come in search of me. I must remain dead to the world forever; I shall never take up the old life again. They must believe me dead.”

Argument and persuasion alike were useless; and, sorely troubled at heart, the apothecary reluctantly consented. Poor little Daisy impulsively caught him by both hands, and gratefully sobbed out her thanks.

The arrangements were soon completed, and before the gray dawn pierced the darkness of the eastern sky poor little Daisy was whirling rapidly away from Elmwood.

The consternation and excitement which prevailed at the Burton Cottage when Daisy’s absence was discovered can better be imagined than described; or the intense anger of Stanwick upon finding Daisy had eluded him.

“Checkmated!” he cried, white to the very lips. “But she shall not escape me; she shall suffer for this freak. I am not a man to be trifled with. She can not have gone far,” he assured himself. “In all probability she has left Elmwood; but if by rail or by water I can easily recapture my pretty bird. Ah, Daisy Brooks!” he muttered, “you can not fly away from your fate; it will overtake you sooner or later.”

Some hours after Stanwick had left the cottage, an old man toiled wearily up the grass-grown path.

“Oh, poor little Daisy,” he said, wiping the tears from his eyes with his old red and white cotton kerchief; “no matter what you have done I will take you back to my heart–that I will!”

He clutched the letter Mme. Whitney had written him close in his toil-hardened hand. The letter simply told him Daisy had fled from the seminary, and she had every reason to believe she was now in Elmwood. He had received the letter while in New York, and hastily proceeded to Elmwood, the station indicated, at once, without stopping over at Allendale to acquaint Septima with the news.

“She shall never be sent off to school again,” he commented; “but she shall stop at home. Poor little pet, she was always as happy as the day was long; she sha’n’t have book-learning if she don’t want it. I am too hard, I s’pose, with the child in sending her off among these primpy city gals, with their flounces and furbelows, with only three plain muslin frocks. The dickens fly away with the book-learnin’; I like her all the better just as she is, bless her dear little heart! I’m after little Daisy Brooks,” he said, bowing to the ladies who met him at the door. “I heard she was here–run away from school, you see, ma’am–but I’ll forgive the little gypsy. Tell her old Uncle John is here. She’ll be powerful glad to see me.”

Slowly and gently they broke to him the cruel story. How the dark, handsome stranger had brought her there in the storm and the night; and they could not refuse her shelter; the gentleman claimed her to be his wife; of her illness which culminated in her disappearance.

They never forgot the white, set face turned toward them. The veins stood out like cords on his forehead, and the perspiration rolled down his pallid cheeks in great quivering beads. This heart-rending, silent emotion was more terrible to witness than the most violent paroxysms of grief. Strangely enough they had quite forgotten to mention Rex’s visit.

“You don’t know how I loved that child,” he cried, brokenly. “She was all I had to love in the whole world, and I set such store by her, but Stanwick shall pay dearly for this,” he cried, hoarsely. “I shall never rest day or night until my little Daisy’s honor is avenged, so help me God! You think she is dead?” he questioned, looking brokenly from the one to the other.

They only nodded their heads; they could not speak through their sobs.

At that moment several of the neighbors who were assisting in the search were seen coming toward the cottage.

They gathered in a little knot by the garden wall. With a heart heavier than lead in his bosom John Brooks went forward to meet them.

“You haven’t got any track of my little Daisy?” he asked, despondingly. The men averted their faces. “For God’s sake speak out, my men!” he cried, in agony; “I can’t stand this suspense.”

“There are footprints in the wet grass down yonder,” one of them replied; “and they lead straight down to the old shaft. Do you think your girl has made away with herself?”

A gray, ghastly pallor settled over John Brooks’ anguished face.

“The Lord knows! All of you stay here while I go down there and look. If I should find anything there I’d rather be alone.”

There was a depth of agony in the man’s voice that touched his hearers, and more than one coat-sleeve was drawn hastily across sympathetic eyes as they whispered one to the other he would surely find her there.

John Brooks had reached the very mouth of the pit now, and through the branches of the trees the men saw him suddenly spring forward, and stoop as if to pick up something, and bitter cries rent the stillness of the summer morning.

“Daisy! oh, Daisy! my child, my child!”

Then they saw him fall heavily to the ground on the very brink of the shaft.

“I guess he’s found her!” cried the sympathizing men. “Let us go and see.”

They found John Brooks insensible, lying prone on his face, grasping a tiny little glove in one hand, and in the other a snowy little handkerchief, which bore, in one corner, worked in fanciful design, the name of “Daisy.”

CHAPTER XVII

Glengrove was one of the most beautiful spots in the south of Florida. The house–similar to many in the South in style of architecture–stood in the midst of charming grounds which were filled with flowers. To the left of the house was a large shrubbery which opened on to a wide carriage-drive leading to the main road, but the principal attraction of Glengrove was its magnificent orange grove, where the brilliant sunshine loved to linger longest among the dark-green boughs, painting the luscious fruit with its own golden coloring–from green to gold. A low stone wall divided it from the beach which led to the sea.

It was early morning. In an elegant boudoir, whose oriel window overlooked the garden, sat three young ladies, respectively, Bessie Glenn, two-and-twenty; Gertie Glenn, twenty; and Eve Glenn, eighteen–all dark-eyed, dark-haired, and handsome, yet each of a distinct different type.

“I declare, Bess,” cried Gertie, indignantly, twisting the telegram she held in her hand into a wisp, “it’s from Uncle Jet! Guess what he says!”

“I couldn’t possibly,” yawns Bess, from the depths of her easy-chair; “it’s too much trouble.”

“Is it about Alice?” questioned Eve, maliciously.

“Yes,” replied Gertie; “but you are to try and guess what it is.”

“Why, I suppose some stranger has chanced to flutter down into the quiet little village of Elmwood, and Alice thinks it her duty to stay there and capture him.”

“That isn’t it at all,” snapped Gertie. “Uncle Jet says Alice can not come; but he has taken the liberty of sending another young lady in her stead, and hopes Miss Daisy Brooks will be the right person in the right place. She will arrive on the twentieth, at nine A. M.”

Eve jumped to her feet in actual astonishment, and even Bessie dropped her novel, with widely opened eyes.

“Just fancy some tall, gaunt old maid of a companion, with such a name!” she cried, raising her eyebrows and picking up her book again. “I think you will find the daisy a rather ancient and faded flower.”

“She couldn’t be anything else,” assented Gertie.

“Wouldn’t it be fun if she should turn out to be young and pretty, and take the shine off both of you?” laughed Eve, puckering up her mouth. “I would enjoy it immensely!”

“Eve, will you hold your tongue?” commanded Bessie, sharply.

“You’d better hold your temper!” retorted Eve.

“Pshaw! what’s the use of being so silly as to quarrel over a Miss Nobody?” cried Gertie, stamping her pretty slippered foot. “Guess what else is the news.”

“Haven’t I told you I despise guessing?” cried Bess, angrily. “It is not good form to insist upon a person’s guessing–please remember it.”

“Write it down on ice,” said Eve, sotto voce, mimicking her elder sister’s tone.

“Well,” said Gertie, with a look of triumph, “I drove over to Mrs. Lyon’s yesterday to see how everything was progressing for that contemplated marriage, and, lo! she informs me the wedding is postponed for the present, and Rex–handsome Rex–is coming home alone.”

“No–o!” cried both the sisters in chorus.

Bess sat bolt upright, and Eve danced around the room clapping her hands.

“I don’t think much of a marriage which has been postponed,” said Bess, a bright spot glowing on both of her cheeks. “Who knows but what one of us may have a chance of winning handsome Rex Lyon, after all? He is certainly a golden prize!”

“‘Don’t count the chickens,’ etc.,” quoted Eve, saucily.

“Gertrude!” said Bess, severely, “you will learn after awhile never to speak before Eve. She is as liable to do mischief as her namesake was in the Garden of Eden.”

“You ought never to go back on your own sex,” retorted Eve, banging the door after her as she quitted the room, Rover, an ugly-looking mastiff, closely following at her heels.

“That is certainly an astonishing piece of news,” said Bess, reflectively, smoothing out the folds of her white cashmere morning wrapper. “Now, here’s a plan for you, Gertie. Find out his address in some way, and we will write to him on some pretext or other. Rex has probably quarreled with the haughty heiress of Whitestone Hall, and one of us ought certainly to catch his heart in the rebound. Send him an invitation to your birthday party, Gertie.”

“I would be more likely to succeed than you, Bess,” said Gertie, rocking complacently to and fro, and looking maliciously at her sister. “You remember he once remarked he did not like tall ladies, and you are certainly tall, Bess.”

“Well, I’d rather be tall and willowy and graceful, than short and fat and dumpy,” jerked out Bess, spitefully.

“What! at swords’ points yet, eh? Ha, ha, ha!” cried Eve, suddenly, popping her head in at the door. “I’ll be back after awhile to see which one of you gets the best of it.”

Before either of the sisters had time to reply, the family carriage dashed suddenly up to the porch, and a moment later a slight, dark-robed little figure was ushered into their presence.

“This is Miss Brooks, mum,” said Jim, the coachman, addressing the elder sister.

“I’d like to know why you have brought her in here?” cried Bess, angrily. “Why did you not take her into the servants’ hall or into the kitchen?”

But Jim had disappeared.

“Well, now that you are here, you might sit down,” suggested Gertie, wondering what kind of a face was hid behind the long, thick, clinging veil. “You may lay aside your bonnet and veil.”

Trembling and sick at heart with the cold greeting which had been given her, Daisy did as she was bid.

“Why, I declare, you are younger than I am!” cried Eve, impulsively. “We were all expecting to see a wrinkled, dried-up old maid. Why, you’d make a much better companion for me than for mother.”

“E–v–e!” cried the elder Miss Glenn, severely, “be kind enough to leave the room.”

“I sha’n’t go one step until I have had my say out,” cried Eve, planting herself firmly down on a hassock in the middle of the floor. “Nobody likes me because I’m rude and free-spoken,” declared Eve, addressing Daisy; “but I believe in letting people know just what I am to begin with. I’m not one of these sleek, smooth, tigery creatures that hide their claws under velvet-paws. We are three model sisters,” she went on, recklessly; “we have tremendous spats–when we are here alone; but if a visitor happens in we all sit with our arms around one another, ‘just to have the appearance’ of affection, you know.”

The elder Miss Glenn arose with dignity, motioning Daisy to follow her.

“Papa will see you later, Eve, dear,” she said, with a baleful glitter in her sloe-black eyes; and as Daisy followed her she could not help but compare her with Pluma Hurlhurst, with that treacherous, mocking smile playing about her full, red lips–and quite unconsciously poor little Daisy fell to thinking.

“Rex will go back to Pluma Hurlhurst now,” she thought, with a bitter sigh. “He has cast me out of his life; he will go back and marry her.”

Poor, innocent Daisy, how little she knew of life or the insurmountable barrier which lay between the haughty, scheming heiress and Rex–her husband!

“I was asking you if you resided in Elmwood, Miss Brooks,” said Bess, raising her voice. “I have asked you twice.”

“I beg your pardon; please forgive me,” said Daisy, flushing painfully. “I–I was not aware you had spoken. No, I lived near Elmwood–between there and Baltimore.”

Daisy was sorely afraid Miss Glenn would ask her to name the exact location. She did not, however, much to Daisy’s relief. By this time they had reached the door of Mrs. Glenn’s room, and as it was slightly ajar Bessie pushed it open without further ceremony and entered.

“Has Miss Brooks come yet?” asked a thin, querulous voice.

“Yes,” answered Bessie; “here she is, mamma.”

The room was so dark Daisy could scarcely distinguish the different objects for a moment or so. She saw, however, a dark figure on a couch and a white jeweled hand waving a fan indolently to and fro. A sudden impulse came over Daisy to turn and run away, but by a great effort she controlled her feelings.

“Step forward, if you please, Miss Brooks. I can not observe you well at such a distance; do not tread on the poodle on the rug or brush against the bric-à-brac placed indiscriminately about the room.”

“Oh, dear, if there were only a light,” thought Daisy, in dismay. She was afraid of taking a single step for fear some of the bric-à-brac mentioned, either at the right or left of her, should come crashing down under her blundering little feet.

“I always exclude the broad glare of early morning light, as I find it especially trying.”

As she spoke she threw back one of the shutters with the end of her fan, and a warm flood of invigorating sunshine poured into the room.

“Dear me,” she cried, staring hard at the beautiful little face before her. “Why, you are a child, scarcely older than my Eve. What could that stupid brother of mine mean by sending you to me? I have a notion to send you back again directly.”

“Oh, please do not, madame,” cried Daisy, piteously. “Only try me first; I will do my very best to please you.”

“But I did not want a young person,” expostulated Mrs. Glenn.

“But you sent for Alice, his daughter, and–and he thought I would do as well,” faltered Daisy, timidly.

“Alice Jet is over forty, and you are not more than sixteen, I should judge. How did you happen to think you could do as well as she?”

The color came and went on Daisy’s pretty flower-like face, and her heart throbbed pitifully.

“I am not so very wise or learned,” she said, “but I should try so hard to please you, if you will only let me try.”

“I suppose, now that you are here, we will have to make the best of it,” replied Mrs. Glenn, condescendingly.

The fair beauty of the young girl’s face did not please her.

“I have always dreaded fair women,” she thought to herself, “they are the most dangerous of rivals. If she stays at Glengrove I shall see she is kept well in the background.”

While in the morning-room below the three girls were discussing the new turn of affairs vigorously.

“I am determined she shall not remain here,” Bessie Glenn was saying.

“I heartily indorse your opinion,” said Gertie, slowly.

And for once in her life the tongue of reckless Eve was silent. She looked thoughtfully out of the window.

CHAPTER XVIII

The first week of Daisy’s stay at Glengrove passed quickly. She was beginning to feel quite at home with Mrs. Glenn and Eve, but Bessie and Gertie held aloof from her. She was beginning to believe she never would be able to win her way to their hearts. Eve–warm-hearted, impulsive Eve–took to her at once.

“You are just the kind of a girl I like, Daisy,” said Eve, twirling one of her soft gold curls caressingly around her finger; “and if I were a handsome young man, instead of a girl, I should fall straightway in love with you. Why, what are you blushing so for?” cried Eve. “Don’t you like to talk about love and lovers?”

“No,” said Daisy, in a low voice, a distressed look creeping into her blue eyes. “If you please, Eve, I’d rather not talk about such things.”

“You are certainly a funny girl,” said Eve, wonderingly. “Why, do you know all the handsome young fellows around here have fallen deeply in love with you, and have just been besieging both Bess and Gertie for an introduction to you.”

No laughing rejoinder came from Daisy’s red lips. There was an anxious look in her eyes. Ah! this, then, accounted for the growing coldness with which the two sisters greeted her.

“You do not seem enough interested to even ask who they are,” said Eve, disappointedly. “I suppose you have never heard we have some of the handsomest gentlemen around here to be met with in the whole South–or in the North either, for that matter,” said Eve, enthusiastically. “Wait until you have seen some of them.”

How little she knew the girl’s heart and soul was bound up in Rex, whom she told herself she was never again to see.

“Do you see that large gray, stone house yonder, whose turrets you can just see beyond those trees?” asked Eve, suddenly, a mischievous light dancing in her merry hazel eyes.

“Yes,” replied Daisy. “I have a fine view of it from my window upstairs. I have seen a little child swinging to and fro in a hammock beneath the trees. Poor little thing, she uses a crutch. Is she lame?”

“Yes,” replied Eve, “that’s little Birdie; she’s lame. I do not want to talk about her but about her brother. Oh, he is perfectly splendid!” declared Eve, enthusiastically, “and rich, too. Why, he owns I don’t know how many cotton plantations and orange groves, and he is–oh–so handsome! You must take care you do not fall in love with him. All the girls do. If you did not, you would be a great exception; you could scarcely help caring for him, he is so winning and so nice,” said Eve, blushing furiously.

How poor little Daisy’s heart longed for sympathy and consolation! Oh, if she only dared tell Eve the great hidden sorrow that seemed eating her heart away! She felt that she must unburden her heart to some one, or it must surely break.

“Eve,” she said, her little hands closing softly over the restless brown one drumming a tattoo on the window-sill, and her golden head drooping so close to Eve’s, her curls mingled with her dark locks, “I could never love any one in this world again. I loved once–it was the sweetest, yet the most bitter, experience of my life. The same voice that spoke tender words to me cruelly cast me from him. Yet I love him still with all my heart. Do not talk to me of love, or lovers, Eve, I can not bear it. The world will never hold but one face for me, and that is the face of him who is lost to me forever.”

“Oh, how delightfully romantic!” cried Eve. “I said to myself over and over again there was some mystery in your life. I have seen such strange shadows in your eyes, and your voice often had the sound of tears in it. I do wish I could help you in some way,” said Eve, thoughtfully. “I’d give the world to set the matter straight for you. What’s his name, and where does he live?”

“I can not tell you,” said Daisy, shaking her golden curls sadly.

“Oh, dear! then I do not see how I can help you,” cried Eve.

“You can not,” replied Daisy; “only keep my secret for me.”

“I will,” she cried, earnestly.

And as they parted, Eve resolved in her own mind to bring this truant lover of Daisy’s back to his old allegiance; but the first and most important step was to discover his name.

Eve went directly to her own room, her brain whirling with a new plan, which she meant to put into execution at once, while Daisy strolled on through the grounds, choosing the less frequented paths. She wanted to be all alone by herself to have a good cry. Somehow she felt so much better for having made a partial confidante of Eve.

The sun was beginning to sink in the west; still Daisy walked on, thinking of Rex. A little shrill piping voice falling suddenly upon her ears caused her to stop voluntarily.

“Won’t you please reach me my hat and crutch? I have dropped them on your side of the fence.”

Daisy glanced around, wondering in which direction the voice came from.

“I am sitting on the high stone wall; come around on the other side of that big tree and you will see me.”

The face that looked down into Daisy’s almost took her breath away for a single instant, it was so like Rex’s.