The strength of love : $b or, Love is lord of all

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Title: The strength of love : or, Love is lord of all
Author: Miller, Alex. McVeigh, Mrs.
Language: English
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*** Start of this LibraryBlog Digital Book "The strength of love : or, Love is lord of all" ***

NEW EAGLE SERIES No. 739 15 CENTS

THE STRENGTH OF LOVE

[Illustration]

_By_

MRS. ALEX.
M^cVEIGH
MILLER

[Illustration]

STREET & SMITH
PUBLISHERS,
NEW YORK.

_Copyright Fiction by the Best Authors_

=NEW EAGLE SERIES=

Price, 15 Cents - Issued Weekly

(Trade supplied exclusively by the American News Company and its
branches.)

The books in this line comprise an unrivaled collection of copyrighted
novels by authors who have won fame wherever the English language is
spoken. Foremost among these is Mrs. Georgie Sheldon, whose works
are contained in this line exclusively. Every book in the New Eagle
Series is of generous length, of attractive appearance, and of
undoubted merit. No better literature can be had at any price. Beware
of imitations of the S. & S. novels, which are sold cheap because
their publishers were put to no expense in the matter of purchasing
manuscripts and making plates.

ALL TITLES ALWAYS IN PRINT

NOTICE:--If these books are sent by mail, four cents must be added to
the price of each copy to cover postage.

1--Queen Bess By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
2--Ruby’s Reward By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
7--Two Keys By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
12--Edrie’s Legacy By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
44--That Dowdy By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
55--Thrice Wedded By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
66--Witch Hazel By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
77--Tina By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
88--Virgie’s Inheritance By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
99--Audrey’s Recompense By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
111--Faithful Shirley By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
122--Grazia’s Mistake By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
133--Max By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
144--Dorothy’s Jewels By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
155--Nameless Dell By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
166--The Masked Bridal By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
177--A True Aristocrat By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
188--Dorothy Arnold’s Escape By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
199--Geoffrey’s Victory By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
210--Wild Oats By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
219--Lost, A Pearle By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
222--The Lily of Mordaunt By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
233--Nora By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
244--A Hoiden’s Conquest By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
255--The Little Marplot By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
266--The Welfleet Mystery By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
277--Brownie’s Triumph By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
282--The Forsaken Bride By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
288--Sibyl’s Influence By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
291--A Mysterious Wedding Ring By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
299--Little Miss Whirlwind By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
311--Wedded by Fate By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
339--His Heart’s Queen By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
351--The Churchyard Betrothal By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
362--Stella Rosevelt By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
372--A Girl in a Thousand By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
373--A Thorn Among Roses By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
Sequel to “A Girl in a Thousand”
382--Mona By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
391--Marguerite’s Heritage By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
399--Betsey’s Transformation By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
407--Esther, the Fright By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
415--Trixy By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
419--The Other Woman By Charles Garvice
433--Winifred’s Sacrifice By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
440--Edna’s Secret Marriage By Charles Garvice
451--Helen’s Victory By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
458--When Love Meets Love By Charles Garvice
476--Earle Wayne’s Nobility By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
511--The Golden Key By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
512--A Heritage of Love By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
Sequel to “The Golden Key”
519--The Magic Cameo By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
520--The Heatherford Fortune By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
Sequel to “The Magic Cameo”
531--Better Than Life By Charles Garvice
537--A Life’s Mistake By Charles Garvice
542--Once in a Life By Charles Garvice
548--’Twas Love’s Fault By Charles Garvice
553--Queen Kate By Charles Garvice
554--Step by Step By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
555--Put to the Test By Ida Reade Allen
556--With Love’s Aid By Wenona Gilman
557--In Cupid’s Chains By Charles Garvice
558--A Plunge Into the Unknown By Richard Marsh
559--The Love That Was Cursed By Geraldine Fleming
560--The Thorns of Regret By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller
561--The Outcast of the Family By Charles Garvice
562--A Forced Promise By Ida Reade Allen
563--The Old Homestead By Denman Thompson
564--Love’s First Kiss By Emma Garrison Jones
565--Just a Girl By Charles Garvice
566--In Love’s Springtime By Laura Jean Libbey
567--Trixie’s Honor By Geraldine Fleming
568--Hearts and Dollars By Ida Reade Allen
569--By Devious Ways By Charles Garvice
570--Her Heart’s Unbidden Guest By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller
571--Two Wild Girls By Mrs. Charlotte May Kingsley
572--Amid Scarlet Roses By Emma Garrison Jones
573--Heart for Heart By Charles Garvice
574--The Fugitive Bride By Mary E. Bryan
575--A Blue Grass Heroine By Ida Reade Allen
576--The Yellow Face By Fred M. White
577--The Story of a Passion By Charles Garvice
578--A Lovely Impostor By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller
579--The Curse of Beauty By Geraldine Fleming
580--The Great Awakening By E. Phillips Oppenheim
581--A Modern Juliet By Charles Garvice
582--Virgie Talcott’s Mission By Lucy M. Russell
583--His Greatest Sacrifice; or, Manch By Mary E. Bryan
584--Mabel’s Fate By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller
585--The Ape and the Diamond By Richard Marsh
586--Nell, of Shorne Mills By Charles Garvice
587--Katherine’s Two Suitors By Geraldine Fleming
588--The Crime of Love By Barbara Howard
589--His Father’s Crime By E. Phillips Oppenheim
590--What Was She to Him? By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller
591--A Heritage of Hate By Charles Garvice
592--Ida Chaloner’s Heart By Lucy Randall Comfort
593--Love Will Find the Way By Wenona Gilman
594--A Case of Identity By Richard Marsh
595--The Shadow of Her Life By Charles Garvice
596--Slighted Love By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller
597--Her Fatal Gift By Geraldine Fleming
598--His Wife’s Friend By Mary E. Bryan
599--At Love’s Cost By Charles Garvice
600--St. Elmo By Augusta J. Evans
601--The Fate of the Plotter By Louis Tracy
602--Married in Error By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller
603--Love and Jealousy By Lucy Randall Comfort
604--Only a Working Girl By Geraldine Fleming
605--Love, the Tyrant By Charles Garvice
606--Mabel’s Sacrifice By Charlotte M. Stanley
607--Sybilla, the Siren By Ida Reade Allen
608--Love is Love Forevermore By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller
609--John Elliott’s Flirtation By Lucy May Russell
610--With All Her Heart By Charles Garvice
611--Is Love Worth While? By Geraldine Fleming
612--Her Husband’s Other Wife By Emma Garrison Jones
613--Philip Bennion’s Death By Richard Marsh
614--Little Phillis’ Lover By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller
615--Maida By Charles Garvice
616--Strangers to the Grave By Ida Reade Allen
617--As a Man Lives By E. Phillips Oppenheim
618--The Tide of Fate By Wenona Gilman
619--The Cardinal Moth By Fred M. White
620--Marcia Drayton By Charles Garvice
621--Lynette’s Wedding By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller
622--His Madcap Sweetheart By Emma Garrison Jones
623--Love at the Loom By Geraldine Fleming
624--A Bachelor Girl By Lucy May Russell
625--Kyra’s Fate By Charles Garvice
626--The Joss By Richard Marsh
627--My Little Love By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller
628--A Daughter of the Marionis By E. Phillips Oppenheim
629--The Lady of Beaufort Park By Wenona Gilman
630--The Verdict of the Heart By Charles Garvice
631--A Love Concealed By Emma Garrison Jones
632--Cruelly Divided By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller
633--The Strange Disappearance of Lady Delia By Louis Tracy
634--Love’s Golden Spell By Geraldine Fleming
635--A Coronet of Shame By Charles Garvice
636--Sinned Against By Mary E. Bryan
637--If It Were True! By Wenona Gilman
638--A Golden Barrier By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller
639--A Hateful Bondage By Barbara Howard
640--A Girl of Spirit By Charles Garvice
641--Master of Men By E. Phillips Oppenheim
642--A Fair Enchantress By Ida Reade Allen
643--The Power of Love By Geraldine Fleming
644--No Time for Penitence By Wenona Gilman
645--A Jest of Fate By Charles Garvice
646--Her Sister’s Secret By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller
647--Bitterly Atoned By Mrs. E. Burke Collins
648--Gertrude Elliott’s Crucible By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
649--The Corner House By Fred M. White
650--Diana’s Destiny By Charles Garvice
651--Love’s Clouded Dawn By Wenona Gilman
652--Little Vixen By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller
653--Her Heart’s Challenge By Barbara Howard
654--Vivian’s Love Story By Mrs. E. Burke Collins
655--Linked by Fate By Charles Garvice
656--Hearts of Stone By Geraldine Fleming
657--In the Service of Love By Richard Marsh
658--Love’s Devious Course By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller
659--Told in the Twilight By Ida Reade Allen
660--The Mills of the Gods By Wenona Gilman
661--The Man of the Hour By Sir William Magnay
662--A Little Barbarian By Charlotte Kingsley
663--Creatures of Destiny By Charles Garvice
664--A Southern Princess By Emma Garrison Jones
665--Where Love Dwelt By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller
666--A Fateful Promise By Effie Adelaide Rowlands
667--The Goddess--A Demon By Richard Marsh
668--From Tears to Smiles By Ida Reade Allen
669--Tempted by Gold By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller
670--Better Than Riches By Wenona Gilman
671--When Love Is Young By Charles Garvice
672--Craven Fortune By Fred M. White
673--Her Life’s Burden By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller
674--The Heart of Hetta By Effie Adelaide Rowlands
675--The Breath of Slander By Ida Reade Allen
676--My Lady Beth By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
677--The Wooing of Esther Gray By Louis Tracy
678--The Shadow Between Them By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller
679--Gold in the Gutter By Charles Garvice
680--Master of Her Fate By Geraldine Fleming
681--In Full Cry By Richard Marsh
682--My Pretty Maid By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller
683--An Unhappy Bargain By Effie Adelaide Rowlands
684--True Love Endures By Ida Reade Allen
685--India’s Punishment By Laura Jean Libbey
686--The Castle of the Shadows By Mrs. C. N. Williamson
687--My Own Sweetheart By Wenona Gilman
688--Only a Kiss By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller
689--Lola Dunbar’s Crime By Barbara Howard
690--Ruth, the Outcast By Mrs. Mary E. Bryan
691--Her Dearest Love By Geraldine Fleming
692--The Man of Millions By Ida Reade Allen
693--For Another’s Fault By Charlotte M. Stanley
694--The Belle of Saratoga By Lucy Randall Comfort
695--The Mystery of the Unicorn By Sir William Magnay
696--The Bride’s Opals By Emma Garrison Jones
697--One of Life’s Roses By Effie Adelaide Rowlands
698--The Battle of Hearts By Geraldine Fleming
699--Sworn to Silence By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller
700--In Wolf’s Clothing By Charles Garvice
701--A Lost Sweetheart By Ida Reade Allen
702--The Stronger Passion By Mrs. Lillian R. Drayton
703--Mr. Marx’s Secret By E. Phillips Oppenheim
704--Had She Loved Him Less! By Laura Jean Libbey
705--The Adventure of Princess Sylvia Mrs. C. N. Williamson
706--In Love’s Paradise By Charlotte M. Stanley
707--At Another’s Bidding By Ida Reade Allen
708--Sold for Gold By Geraldine Fleming
709--Lady Gay’s Pride By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller

To Be Published During January, 1911.

710--Ridgeway of Montana By William MacLeod Raine
711--Taken by Storm By Emma Garrison Jones
712--Love and a Lie By Charles Garvice
713--Barriers of Stone By Wenona Gilman

To Be Published During February, 1911.

714--Ethel’s Secret By Charlotte M. Stanley
715--Amber, the Adopted By Mrs. Harriet Lewis
716--No Man’s Wife By Ida Reade Allen
717--Wild and Willful By Lucy Randall Comfort

To Be Published During March, 1911.

718--When We Two Parted By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller
719--Love’s Earnest Prayer By Geraldine Fleming
720--The Price of a Kiss By Laura Jean Libbey
721--A Girl from the South By Charles Garvice
722--A Freak of Fate By Emma Garrison Jones

To Be Published During April, 1911.

723--A Golden Sorrow By Charlotte M. Stanley
724--Norna’s Black Fortune By Ida Reade Allen
725--The Thoroughbred By Edith MacVane
726--Diana’s Peril By Dorothy Hall

To Be Published During May, 1911.

727--His Willing Slave By Lillian R. Drayton
728--Her Share of Sorrow By Wenona Gilman
729--Loved at Last By Geraldine Fleming
730--John Hungerford’s Redemption By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
731--His Two Loves By Ida Reade Allen

To Be Published During June, 1911.

732--Eric Braddon’s Love By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller
733--Garrison’s Finish By W. B. M. Ferguson
734--Sylvia, the Forsaken By Charlotte M. Stanley
735--Married for Money By Lucy Randall Comfort

In order that there may be no confusion, we desire to say that the
books listed above will be issued, during the respective months, in New
York City and vicinity. They may not reach the readers, at a distance,
promptly, on account of delays in transportation.

THE EAGLE SERIES

Principally Copyrights Elegant Colored Covers

PRICE, TEN CENTS

(Trade supplied exclusively by the American News Company and its
branches.)

While the books in the New Eagle Series are undoubtedly better value,
being bigger books, the stories offered to the public in this line
must not be underestimated. There are over four hundred copyrighted
books by famous authors, which cannot be had in any other line. No
other publisher in the world has a line that contains so many different
titles, nor can any publisher ever hope to secure books that will match
those in the Eagle Series in quality.

This is the pioneer line of copyrighted ten-cent novels, and that it
has struck popular fancy just right is proven by the fact that for
ten years it has been the first choice of American readers. The only
reason that we can afford to give such excellent reading at ten cents
per copy, is that our unlimited capital and great organization enable
us to manufacture books more cheaply and to sell more of them without
expensive advertising, than any other publisher.

ALL TITLES ALWAYS IN PRINT

NOTICE:--If these books are sent by mail, four cents must be
added to the price of each copy to cover postage.

3--The Love of Violet Lee By Julia Edwards
4--For a Woman’s Honor By Bertha M. Clay
5--The Senator’s Favorite By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller
6--The Midnight Marriage By A. M. Douglas
8--Beautiful But Poor By Julia Edwards
9--The Virginia Heiress By May Agnes Fleming
10--Little Sunshine By Francis S. Smith
11--The Gipsy’s Daughter By Bertha M. Clay
13--The Little Widow By Julia Edwards
14--Violet Lisle By Bertha M. Clay
15--Dr. Jack By St. George Rathborne
16--The Fatal Card By Haddon Chambers and B. C. Stephenson
17--Leslie’s Loyalty By Charles Garvice
(His Love So True)
18--Dr. Jack’s Wife By St. George Rathborne
19--Mr. Lake of Chicago By Harry DuBois Milman
20--The Senator’s Bride By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller
21--A Heart’s Idol By Bertha M. Clay
22--Elaine By Charles Garvice
23--Miss Pauline of New York By St. George Rathborne
24--A Wasted Love By Charles Garvice
(On Love’s Altar)
25--Little Southern Beauty By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller
26--Captain Tom By St. George Rathborne
27--Estelle’s Millionaire Lover By Julia Edwards
28--Miss Caprice By St. George Rathborne
29--Theodora By Victorien Sardou
30--Baron Sam By St. George Rathborne
31--A Siren’s Love By Robert Lee Tyler
32--The Blockade Runner By J. Perkins Tracy
33--Mrs. Bob By St. George Rathborne
34--Pretty Geraldine By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller
35--The Great Mogul By St. George Rathborne
36--Fedora By Victorien Sardou
37--The Heart of Virginia By J. Perkins Tracy
38--The Nabob of Singapore By St. George Rathborne
39--The Colonel’s Wife By Warren Edwards
40--Monsieur Bob By St. George Rathborne
41--Her Heart’s Desire By Charles Garvice
(An Innocent Girl)
42--Another Woman’s Husband By Bertha M. Clay
43--Little Coquette Bonnie By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller
45--A Yale Man By Robert Lee Tyler
46--Off with the Old Love By Mrs. M. V. Victor
47--The Colonel by Brevet By St. George Rathborne
48--Another Man’s Wife By Bertha M. Clay
49--None But the Brave By Robert Lee Tyler
50--Her Ransom By Charles Garvice
(Paid For)
51--The Price He Paid By E. Werner
52--Woman Against Woman By Effie Adelaide Rowlands
54--Cleopatra By Victorien Sardou
56--The Dispatch Bearer By Warren Edwards
57--Rosamond By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller
58--Major Matterson of Kentucky By St. George Rathborne
59--Gladys Greye By Bertha M. Clay
61--La Tosca By Victorien Sardou
62--Stella Stirling By Julia Edwards
63--Lawyer Bell from Boston By Robert Lee Tyler
64--Dora Tenney By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller
65--Won by the Sword By J. Perkins Tracy
67--Gismonda By Victorien Sardou
68--The Little Cuban Rebel By Edna Winfield
69--His Perfect Trust By Bertha M. Clay
70--Sydney By Charles Garvice
(A Wilful Young Woman)
71--The Spider’s Web By St. George Rathborne
72--Wilful Winnie By Harriet Sherburne
73--The Marquis By Charles Garvice
74--The Cotton King By Sutton Vane
75--Under Fire By T. P. James
76--Mavourneen From the celebrated play
78--The Yankee Champion By Sylvanus Cobb, Jr.
79--Out of the Past By Charles Garvice
(Marjorie)
80--The Fair Maid of Fez By St. George Rathborne
81--Wedded for an Hour By Emma Garrison Jones
82--Captain Impudence By Edwin Milton Royle
83--The Locksmith of Lyons By Prof. Wm. Henry Peck
84--Imogene By Charles Garvice
(Dumaresq’s Temptation)
85--Lorrie; or, Hollow Gold By Charles Garvice
86--A Widowed Bride By Lucy Randall Comfort
87--Shenandoah By J. Perkins Tracy
89--A Gentleman from Gascony By Bicknell Dudley
90--For Fair Virginia By Russ Whytal
91--Sweet Violet By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller
92--Humanity By Sutton Vane
93--A Queen of Treachery By Ida Reade Allen
94--Darkest Russia By H. Grattan Donnelly
95--A Wilful Maid By Charles Garvice
(Philippa)
96--The Little Minister By J. M. Barrie
97--The War Reporter By Warren Edwards
98--Claire By Charles Garvice
(The Mistress of Court Regna)
100--Alice Blake By Francis S. Smith
101--A Goddess of Africa By St. George Rathborne
102--Sweet Cymbeline By Charles Garvice
(Bellmaire)
103--The Span of Life By Sutton Vane
104--A Proud Dishonor By Genie Holzmeyer
105--When London Sleeps By Chas. Darrell
106--Lillian, My Lillian By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller
107--Carla; or, Married at Sight By Effie Adelaide Rowlands
108--A Son of Mars By St. George Rathborne
109--Signa’s Sweetheart By Charles Garvice
(Lord Delamere’s Bride)
110--Whose Wife is She? By Annie Lisle
112--The Cattle King By A. D. Hall
113--A Crushed Lily By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller
114--Half a Truth By Dora Delmar
115--A Fair Revolutionist By St. George Rathborne
116--The Daughter of the Regiment By Mary A. Denison
117--She Loved Him By Charles Garvice
118--Saved from the Sea By Richard Duffy
119--’Twixt Smile and Tear By Charles Garvice
(Dulcie)
120--The White Squadron By T. C. Harbaugh
121--Cecile’s Marriage By Lucy Randall Comfort
123--Northern Lights By A. D. Hall
124--Prettiest of All By Julia Edwards
125--Devil’s Island By A. D. Hall
126--The Girl from Hong Kong By St. George Rathborne
127--Nobody’s Daughter By Clara Augusta
128--The Scent of the Roses By Dora Delmar
129--In Sight of St. Paul’s By Sutton Vane
130--A Passion Flower By Charles Garvice
(Madge)
131--Nerine’s Second Choice By Adelaide Stirling
132--Whose Was the Crime? By Gertrude Warden
134--Squire John By St. George Rathborne
135--Cast Up by the Tide By Dora Delmar
136--The Unseen Bridegroom By May Agnes Fleming
137--A Wedded Widow By Ida Reade Allen
138--A Fatal Wooing By Laura Jean Libbey
139--Little Lady Charles By Effie Adelaide Rowlands
140--That Girl of Johnson’s By Jean Kate Ludlum
141--Lady Evelyn By May Agnes Fleming
142--Her Rescue from the Turks By St. George Rathborne
143--A Charity Girl By Effie Adelaide Rowlands
145--Country Lanes and City Pavements By Maurice M. Minton
146--Magdalen’s Vow By May Agnes Fleming
147--Under Egyptian Skies By St. George Rathborne
148--Will She Win? By Emma Garrison Jones
149--The Man She Loved By Effie Adelaide Rowlands
150--Sunset Pass By General Charles King
151--The Heiress of Glen Gower By May Agnes Fleming
152--A Mute Confessor By Will N. Harben
153--Her Son’s Wife By Hazel Wood
154--Husband and Foe By Effie Adelaide Rowlands
156--A Soldier Lover By Edward S. Brooks
157--Who Wins? By May Agnes Fleming
158--Stella, the Star By Wenona Gilman
159--Out of Eden By Dora Russell
160--His Way and Her Will By Frances Aymar Mathews
161--Miss Fairfax of Virginia By St. George Rathborne
162--A Man of the Name of John By Florence King
163--A Splendid Egotist By Mrs. J. H. Walworth
164--Couldn’t Say No By John Habberton
165--The Road of the Rough By Maurice M. Minton
167--The Manhattaners By Edward S. Van Zile
168--Thrice Lost, Thrice Won By May Agnes Fleming
169--The Trials of an Actress By Wenona Gilman
170--A Little Radical By Mrs. J. H. Walworth
171--That Dakota Girl By Stella Gilman
172--A King and a Coward By Effie Adelaide Rowlands
173--A Bar Sinister By St. George Rathborne
174--His Guardian Angel By Charles Garvice
175--For Honor’s Sake By Laura C. Ford
176--Jack Gordon, Knight Errant By Barclay North
178--A Slave of Circumstances By Ernest De Lancey Pierson
179--One Man’s Evil By Effie Adelaide Rowlands
180--A Lazy Man’s Work By Frances Campbell Sparhawk
181--The Baronet’s Bride By May Agnes Fleming
182--A Legal Wreck By William Gillette
183--Quo Vadis By Henryk Sienkiewicz
184--Sunlight and Gloom By Geraldine Fleming
185--The Adventures of Miss Volney By Ella Wheeler Wilcox
186--Beneath a Spell By Effie Adelaide Rowlands
187--The Black Ball By Ernest De Lancey Pierson
189--Berris By Katharine S. MacQuoid
190--A Captain of the Kaiser By St. George Rathborne
191--A Harvest of Thorns By Mrs. H. C. Hoffman
192--An Old Man’s Darling and Jacquelina By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller
193--A Vagabond’s Honor By Ernest De Lancey Pierson
194--A Sinless Crime By Geraldine Fleming
195--Her Faithful Knight By Gertrude Warden
196--A Sailor’s Sweetheart By St. George Rathborne
197--A Woman Scorned By Effie Adelaide Rowlands
198--Guy Kenmore’s Wife, and the Rose
and the Lily By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller
200--In God’s Country By D. Higbee
201--Blind Elsie’s Crime By Mary Grace Halpine
202--Marjorie By Katharine S. MacQuoid
203--Only One Love By Charles Garvice
204--With Heart So True By Effie Adelaide Rowlands
205--If Love Be Love By D. Cecil Gibbs
206--A Daughter of Maryland By G. Waldo Browne
207--Little Golden’s Daughter By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller
208--A Chase for a Bride By St. George Rathborne
209--She Loved But Left Him By Julia Edwards
211--As We Forgive By Lurana W. Sheldon
212--Doubly Wronged By Adah M. Howard
213--The Heiress of Egremont By Mrs. Harriet Lewis
214--Olga’s Crime By Frank Barrett
215--Only a Girl’s Love By Charles Garvice
216--The Lost Bride By Clara Augusta
217--His Noble Wife By George Manville Fenn
218--A Life for a Love By Mrs. L. T. Meade
220--A Fatal Past By Dora Russell
221--The Honorable Jane By Annie Thomas
223--Leola Dale’s Fortune By Charles Garvice
224--A Sister’s Sacrifice By Geraldine Fleming
225--A Miserable Woman By Mrs. H. C. Hoffman
226--The Roll of Honor By Annie Thomas
227--For Love and Honor By Effie Adelaide Rowlands
228--His Brother’s Widow By Mary Grace Halpine
229--For the Sake of the Family By May Crommelin
230--A Woman’s Atonement, and A Mother’s Mistake By Adah M. Howard
231--The Earl’s Heir By Charles Garvice
(Lady Norah)
232--A Debt of Honor By Mabel Collins
234--His Mother’s Sin By Adeline Sergeant
235--Gratia’s Trials By Lucy Randall Comfort
236--Her Humble Lover By Charles Garvice
(The Usurper; or, The Gipsy Peer)
237--Woman or Witch? By Dora Delmar
238--That Other Woman By Annie Thomas
239--Don Cæsar De Bazan By Victor Hugo
240--Saved by the Sword By St. George Rathborne
241--Her Love and Trust By Adeline Sergeant
242--A Wounded Heart By Charles Garvice
(Sweet as a Rose)
243--His Double Self By Scott Campbell
245--A Modern Marriage By Clara Lanza
246--True to Herself By Mrs. J. H. Walworth
247--Within Love’s Portals By Frank Barrett
248--Jeanne, Countess Du Barry By H. L. Williams
249--What Love Will Do By Geraldine Fleming
250--A Woman’s Soul By Charles Garvice
(Doris; or, Behind the Footlights)
251--When Love is True By Mabel Collins
252--A Handsome Sinner By Dora Delmar
253--A Fashionable Marriage By Mrs. Alex Frazer
254--Little Miss Millions By St. George Rathborne
256--Thy Name is Woman By F. H. Howe
257--A Martyred Love By Charles Garvice
(Iris; or, Under the Shadow)
258--An Amazing Marriage By Mrs. Sumner Hayden
259--By a Golden Cord By Dora Delmar
260--At a Girl’s Mercy By Jean Kate Ludlum
261--A Siren’s Heart By Effie Adelaide Rowlands
262--A Woman’s Faith By Henry Wallace
263--An American Nabob By St. George Rathborne
264--For Gold or Soul By Lurana W. Sheldon
265--First Love is Best By S. K. Hocking
267--Jeanne By Charles Garvice
(Barriers Between)
268--Olivia; or, It Was for Her Sake By Charles Garvice
269--Brunette and Blonde By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller
270--Had She Foreseen By Dora Delmar
271--With Love’s Laurel Crowned By W. C. Stiles
272--So Fair, So False By Charles Garvice
(The Beauty of the Season)
273--At Sword’s Points By St. George Rathborne
274--A Romantic Girl By Evelyn E. Green
275--Love’s Cruel Whim By Effie Adelaide Rowlands
276--So Nearly Lost By Charles Garvice
(The Springtime of Love)
278--Laura Brayton By Julia Edwards
279--Nina’s Peril By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller
280--Love’s Dilemma By Charles Garvice
(For an Earldom)
281--For Love Alone By Wenona Gilman
283--My Lady Pride By Charles Garvice
(Floris)
284--Dr. Jack’s Widow By St. George Rathborne
285--Born to Betray By Mrs. M. V. Victor
286--A Debt of Vengeance By Mrs. E. Burke Collins
287--The Lady of Darracourt By Charles Garvice
289--Married in Mask By Mansfield T. Walworth
290--A Change of Heart By Effie Adelaide Rowlands
292--For Her Only By Charles Garvice
(Diana)
294--A Warrior Bold By St. George Rathborne
295--A Terrible Secret and Countess Isabel By Geraldine Fleming
296--The Heir of Vering By Charles Garvice
297--That Girl from Texas By Mrs. J. H. Walworth
298--Should She Have Left Him? By Barclay North
300--The Spider and the Fly By Charles Garvice
(Violet)
301--The False and the True By Effie Adelaide Rowlands
302--When Man’s Love Fades By Hazel Wood
303--The Queen of the Isle By May Agnes Fleming
304--Stanch as a Woman By Charles Garvice
(A Maiden’s Sacrifice)
305--Led by Love By Charles Garvice
Sequel to “Stanch as a Woman”
306--Love’s Golden Rule By Geraldine Fleming
307--The Winning of Isolde By St. George Rathborne
308--Lady Ryhope’s Lover By Emma Garrison Jones
309--The Heiress of Castle Cliffe By May Agnes Fleming
310--A Late Repentance By Mary A. Denison
312--Woven on Fate’s Loom and The Snowdrift By Charles Garvice
313--A Kinsman’s Sin By Effie Adelaide Rowlands
314--A Maid’s Fatal Love By Helen Corwin Pierce
315--The Dark Secret By May Agnes Fleming
316--Edith Lyle’s Secret By Mrs. Mary J. Holmes
317--Ione By Laura Jean Libbey
318--Stanch of Heart By Charles Garvice
(Adrien Le Roy)
319--Millbank By Mrs. Mary J. Holmes
320--Mynheer Joe By St. George Rathborne
321--Neva’s Three Lovers By Mrs. Harriet Lewis
322--Mildred By Mrs. Mary J. Holmes
323--The Little Countess By S. E. Boggs
324--A Love Match By Sylvanus Cobb, Jr.
325--The Leighton Homestead By Mrs. Mary J. Holmes
326--Parted by Fate By Laura Jean Libbey
327--Was She Wife or Widow? By Malcolm Bell
328--He Loves Me, He Loves Me Not By Charles Garvice
(Valeria)
329--My Hildegarde By St. George Rathborne
330--Aikenside By Mrs. Mary J. Holmes
331--Christine By Adeline Sergeant
332--Darkness and Daylight By Mrs. Mary J. Holmes
333--Stella’s Fortune By Charles Garvice
(The Sculptor’s Wooing)
334--Miss McDonald By Mrs. Mary J. Holmes
335--We Parted at the Altar By Laura Jean Libbey
336--Rose Mather By Mrs. Mary J. Holmes
337--Dear Elsie By Mary J. Safford
338--A Daughter of Russia By St. George Rathborne
340--Bad Hugh. Vol. I. By Mrs. Mary J. Holmes
341--Bad Hugh. Vol. II. By Mrs. Mary J. Holmes
342--Her Little Highness By Nataly Von Eschstruth
343--Little Sunshine By Adah M. Howard
344--Leah’s Mistake By Mrs. H. C. Hoffman
345--Tresillian Court By Mrs. Harriet Lewis
346--Guy Tresillian’s Fate By Mrs. Harriet Lewis
Sequel to “Tresillian Court”
347--The Eyes of Love By Charles Garvice
348--My Florida Sweetheart By St. George Rathborne
349--Marion Grey By Mary J. Holmes
350--A Wronged Wife By Mary Grace Halpine
352--Family Pride. Vol. I. By Mary J. Holmes
353--Family Pride. Vol. II. By Mary J. Holmes
354--A Love Comedy By Charles Garvice
355--Wife and Woman By Mary J. Safford
356--Little Kit By Effie Adelaide Rowlands
357--Montezuma’s Mines By St. George Rathborne
358--Beryl’s Husband By Mrs. Harriet Lewis
359--The Spectre’s Secret By Sylvanus Cobb, Jr.
360--An Only Daughter By Hazel Wood
361--The Ashes of Love By Charles Garvice
363--The Opposite House By Nataly Von Eschstruth
364--A Fool’s Paradise By Mary Grace Halpine
365--Under a Cloud By Jean Kate Ludlum
366--Comrades in Exile By St. George Rathborne
367--Hearts and Coronets By Jane G. Fuller
368--The Pride of Her Life By Charles Garvice
369--At a Great Cost By Effie Adelaide Rowlands
370--Edith Trevor’s Secret By Mrs. Harriet Lewis
371--Cecil Rosse By Mrs. Harriet Lewis
Sequel to “Edith Trevor’s Secret”
374--True Daughter of Hartenstein By Mary J. Safford
375--Transgressing the Law By Capt. Fred’k Whittaker
376--The Red Slipper By St. George Rathborne
377--Forever True By Effie Adelaide Rowlands
378--John Winthrop’s Defeat By Jean Kate Ludlum
379--Blinded by Love By Nataly Von Eschstruth
380--Her Double Life By Mrs. Harriet Lewis
381--The Sunshine of Love By Mrs. Harriet Lewis
Sequel to “Her Double Life”
383--A Lover from Across the Sea By Mary J. Safford
384--Yet She Loved Him By Mrs. Kate Vaughn
385--A Woman Against Her By Effie Adelaide Rowlands
386--Teddy’s Enchantress By St. George Rathborne
387--A Heroine’s Plot By Katherine S. MacQuoid
388--Two Wives By Hazel Wood
389--Sundered Hearts By Mrs. Harriet Lewis
390--A Mutual Vow By Harold Payne
392--A Resurrected Love By Seward W. Hopkins
393--On the Wings of Fate By Effie Adelaide Rowlands
394--A Drama of a Life By Jean Kate Ludlum
395--Wooing a Widow By E. A. King
396--Back to Old Kentucky By St. George Rathborne
397--A Gilded Promise By Walter Bloomfield
398--Cupid’s Disguise By Fanny Lewald
400--For Another’s Wrong By W. Heimburg
401--The Woman Who Came Between By Effie Adelaide Rowlands
402--A Silent Heroine By Mrs. D. M. Lowrey
403--The Rival Suitors By J. H. Connelly
404--The Captive Bride By Capt. Fred’k Whittaker
405--The Haunted Husband By Mrs. Harriet Lewis
406--Felipe’s Pretty Sister By St. George Rathborne
408--On a False Charge By Seward W. Hopkins
409--A Girl’s Kingdom By Effie Adelaide Rowlands
410--Miss Mischief By W. Heimburg
411--Fettered and Freed By Eugene Charvette
412--The Love that Lives By Capt. Fred’k Whittaker
413--Were They Married? By Hazel Wood
414--A Girl’s First Love By Elizabeth C. Winter
416--Down in Dixie By St. George Rathborne
417--Brave Barbara By Effie Adelaide Rowlands
418--An Insignificant Woman By W. Heimburg
420--A Sweet Little Lady By Gertrude Warden
421--Her Sweet Reward By Barbara Kent
422--Lady Kildare By Mrs. Harriet Lewis
423--A Woman’s Way By Capt. Frederick Whittaker
424--A Splendid Man By Effie Adelaide Rowlands
425--A College Widow By Frank H. Howe
426--The Bride of the Tomb and Queenie’s
Terrible Secret By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller
427--A Wizard of the Moors By St. George Rathborne
428--A Tramp’s Daughter By Hazel Wood
429--A Fair Fraud By Emily Lovett Cameron
430--The Honor of a Heart By Mary J. Safford
431--Her Husband and Her Love By Effie Adelaide Rowlands
432--Breta’s Double By Helen V. Greyson
434--The Guardian’s Trust By Mary A. Denison
435--Under Oath By Jean Kate Ludlum
436--The Rival Toreadors By St. George Rathborne
437--The Breach of Custom By Mrs. D. M. Lowrey
438--So Like a Man By Effie Adelaide Rowlands
439--Little Nan By Mary A. Denison
441--A Princess of the Stage By Nataly Von Eschstruth
442--Love Before Duty By Mrs. L. T. Meade
443--In Spite of Proof By Gertrude Warden
444--Love’s Trials By Alfred R. Calhoun
445--An Angel of Evil By Effie Adelaide Rowlands
446--Bound with Love’s Fetters By Mary Grace Halpine
447--A Favorite of Fortune By St. George Rathborne
448--When Love Dawns By Adelaide Stirling
449--The Bailiff’s Scheme By Mrs. Harriet Lewis
450--Rosamond’s Love By Mrs. Harriet Lewis
Sequel to “The Bailiff’s Scheme”
452--The Last of the Van Slacks By Edward S. Van Zile
453--A Poor Girl’s Passion By Gertrude Warden
454--Love’s Probation By Elizabeth Olmis
455--Love’s Greatest Gift By Effie Adelaide Rowlands
456--A Vixen’s Treachery By Mrs. Harriet Lewis
457--Adrift in the World By Mrs. Harriet Lewis
Sequel to “A Vixen’s Treachery”
459--A Golden Mask By Charlotte M. Stanley
460--Dr. Jack’s Talisman By St. George Rathborne
461--Above All Things By Adelaide Stirling
462--A Stormy Wedding By Mary E. Bryan
463--A Wife’s Triumph By Effie Adelaide Rowlands
464--The Old Life’s Shadows By Mrs. Harriet Lewis
465--Outside Her Eden By Mrs. Harriet Lewis
Sequel to “The Old Life’s Shadows”
466--Love, the Victor By a Popular Southern Author
467--Zina’s Awaking By Mrs. J. K. Spender
468--The Wooing of a Fairy By Gertrude Warden
469--A Soldier and a Gentleman By J. M. Cobban
470--A Strange Wedding By Mary Hartwell Catherwood
471--A Shadowed Happiness By Effie Adelaide Rowlands
472--Dr. Jack and Company By St. George Rathborne
473--A Sacrifice to Love By Adelaide Stirling
474--The Belle of the Season By Mrs. Harriet Lewis
475--Love Before Pride By Mrs. Harriet Lewis
Sequel to “The Belle of the Season”
477--The Siberian Exiles By Col. Thomas Knox
478--For Love of Sigrid By Effie Adelaide Rowlands
479--Mysterious Mr. Sabin By E. Phillips Oppenheim
480--A Perfect Fool By Florence Warden
481--Wedded, Yet No Wife By May Agnes Fleming
482--A Little Worldling By L. C. Ellsworth
483--Miss Marston’s Heart By L. H. Bickford
484--The Whistle of Fate By Richard Marsh
485--The End Crowns All By Effie Adelaide Rowlands
486--Divided Lives By Edgar Fawcett
487--A Wonderful Woman By May Agnes Fleming
488--The French Witch By Gertrude Warden
489--Lucy Harding By Mrs. Mary J. Holmes
490--The Price of Jealousy By Maud Howe
491--My Lady of Dreadwood By Effie Adelaide Rowlands
492--A Speedy Wooing By the Author of “As Common Mortals”
493--The Girl He Loved By Adelaide Stirling
494--Voyagers of Fortune By St. George Rathborne

The Strength of Love;

OR,

LOVE IS LORD OF ALL

MRS. ALEX. McVEIGH MILLER

AUTHOR OF

“When We Two Parted,” “Lady Gay’s Pride,” “Sworn to Silence,”
“Eric Braddon’s Love,” and many other romances of American
life published exclusively in the EAGLE and NEW EAGLE
SERIES, each of which is of the most intense interest.

[Illustration]

NEW YORK
STREET & SMITH, PUBLISHERS
79-89 SEVENTH AVENUE

The Strength of Love

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most momentous, wonderful, and worthy, are the things we call
Books.

--_Carlyle._

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is justly famous as a writer of American love stories of quality.

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Street & Smith, Publishers
NEW YORK

* * * * *

THE STRENGTH OF LOVE.

CHAPTER I.

RIVALS IN LOVE.

When Dallas Bain and Royall Sherwood, with the dashing young widow,
Mrs. Fleming, drove down the village street in their fine landau that
summer afternoon, Daisie Bell stood on the steps of her aunt’s cottage,
plucking the purple wistaria blooms from the vines above her head, and
the picture she made in her youth and grace stayed in both the men’s
hearts till they died.

Just a slip of a girl--perhaps seventeen or eighteen--gowned very
simply, in white, with lavender ribbons at throat and waist; but her
figure was grace and symmetry itself; and her face--well, men have died
for faces less fair than hers, with its dusk-violet eyes, blue in the
light, black in the shade, under the fringed curtain of jetty lashes
that contrasted so vividly with the living gold of her hair as it swept
in loose waves over her shoulders.

Both the young men gazed at this charming vision in frank delight, and
as the unknown beauty and the gay little widow exchanged formal bows,
exclaimed simultaneously:

“Who is that beautiful girl?”

Mrs. Fleming frowned jealously, bit her red lips, and answered, with
some asperity:

“What geese men are! Always caught by theatricals! Couldn’t you both
see that the bold thing was just posing for your benefit?”

“How exceedingly kind of her, to be sure! We certainly enjoyed the
tableau very much,” lisped Royall Sherwood, a rich young man of the
_genus_ dude, who was Mrs. Fleming’s cousin, and visiting her at her
summer home in Maryland, having brought with him Dallas Bain, a new
friend he had made on the return trip from Europe, a month ago.

“I don’t know a thing about him, except that he’s clever and handsome,
and seems to have plenty of money; but I like him immensely, so I
brought him here with me, and if you’re not pleased you can just ship
us both when you get tired,” Royall said coolly to his cousin, who
answered gayly:

“I’ll never get tired, I assure you; the dear boy is too charming.”

That was ten days ago, and as time went by she found him more charming
than ever, though there was about him a careless insouciance, a cynical
indifference to her wiles, that piqued her into deeper earnestness, so
that by the end of the first week she was passionately in love, and
using every feminine art to bring him to her feet.

And, never having loved before, despite several pronounced flirtations,
she was desperately in earnest.

At only twenty-five, she was the widow of an old man whom she had
married for his money when she was only nineteen years old. Three years
later he obligingly died, and left her the mistress of half a million,
which she was enjoying in royal fashion. A selfish, careless little
beauty, she had never felt the great passion of life till she met
Dallas Bain, whose large, dark, flashing eyes had pierced her heart in
a moment with love’s keen arrow.

She set herself to win him without a thought of defeat, for she was
very pretty in a doll-like fashion, petite, with turquoise-blue eyes,
and crinkly flaxen hair always in the most picturesque disorder. Not
a fear of rivalry crossed her mind, for although she had several young
girls as guests, she had been careful to invite only those who were
plain-looking enough to serve as a foil to her own beauty. To Daisie
Bell she had never given a thought till this moment, when, on their
drive, the coachman had turned into Temple Street just to vary the
route, and her visitors had seen the young girl in her wondrous beauty,
that, once seen, could never be forgotten.

What a careless encounter it seemed, yet one fraught with fate!

“Couldn’t you both see that the bold thing was just posing for your
benefit?” she exclaimed, in jealous alarm; and Royall had answered as
above recorded, winking significantly at his friend; but Dallas said
not a word, but gazed, with his heart in his eyes, at the beauty till
she was out of sight.

Then he drew a long breath that was mingled delight and pain, and cried
eagerly:

“But who is she, Mrs. Fleming?”

“Yes, who is she, and why haven’t we met her at your receptions,
Lutie?” added Royall.

Tossing her head and curling a scornful lip, the lady returned
maliciously:

“Oh, she isn’t in our set at all--only a poor relation of some people
here; a teacher, or shop girl from New York, who comes here every
summer to visit her kin and rest from work. And they’re all poor, as
you can see from the back street and the five-roomed cottage.”

She thought that this explanation ought to settle the subject forever;
but Royall persisted:

“Lutie, why don’t you tell us her name?”

“Well, then,” snappishly, “it is Daisie Bell.”

“Well, she is a daisy, and no mistake, and a belle, too--the rarest
beauty I ever saw; and I’m bound to know her soon. I’m in love at first
sight.”

His cousin frowned, and cried sharply:

“Royall, you shan’t turn that simple girl’s head with your flatteries.”

“I tell you, Lutie, I’m in dead earnest!”

“Nonsense!”

Dallas Bain said nothing, but his deep eyes gleamed with a subtle
fire, and he resolved that he, too, would make the acquaintance of the
lovely girl whose single earnest glance had thrilled him so deeply
that it seemed to him already that she must be his fate.

It was strange how much business the two young men had on Temple Street
the next few days, either riding or walking, and always watching
eagerly for another glimpse of the fair face that had charmed them so.

Once they saw her again on the porch, and twice at the upper window,
and finally they met her coming out of her gate, apparently going for a
morning call.

She blushed brightly at their admiring glances, and stepped briskly in
front of them, walking along for about two blocks, setting them wild
with her graceful carriage, like a young princess, then stopped and
went into a house whose occupants they knew as acquaintances of Mrs.
Fleming.

They nudged each other, and Royall exclaimed eagerly:

“Let us go in and call on that pretty little Miss Janowitz. Then she
will introduce us to the beauty.”

But Dallas Bain hesitated, though his heart was following the girl
inside.

He said tentatively:

“It does not look quite fair to force an acquaintance. Let us try for
an introduction in a more proper way.”

“A fig for the proprieties! I’m bound to get up a flirtation with that
beautiful creature,” vowed Royall recklessly, opening the gate and
going in while nodding a gay farewell to his friend, who turned away
with a jealous pang at his heart, though muttering to himself:

“If she would flirt with him, she is not worth my winning.”

Royall Sherwood was cordially welcomed by Miss Annette Janowitz, a
charming little brunette, as brilliant and restless as a humming bird.

“I have seen you passing several times this week, and I wondered if you
were looking for me,” she said gayly. “But let me introduce you to my
friend, Miss Bell.”

They bowed to each other, Royall with _empressement_, Daisie with
reserve; for, having seen him in the vicinity of her home so much
lately, she rather suspected the conquest she had made, but resented
this way of forcing an acquaintance.

“The impudence!” she thought resentfully, while Annette continued to
chatter gayly, flashing her dangerous black eyes at him.

“I saw Mr. Bain leaving you at the gate. Why didn’t he come in, also?”

“Dallas Bain? Oh, I asked him to come in, but he refused, and went back
to Sea View alone. Fact is, he has no eyes for any woman but my cousin,
Lutie Fleming. Most absorbing flirtation I ever saw, really,” returned
Royall, trying thus early to make a clever move in the game of love,
and checkmate Dallas, whom he knew might prove a dangerous rival for
Daisie’s heart.

Miss Bell was very quiet. She sat with downcast eyes, playing with a
rose in her belt, the seashell glow coming and going on her cheeks
with some secret excitement. Royall wondered if it were emotion at his
presence or pique that Dallas had not cared for her society. He decided
that it must be the latter, for she soon brought her call to an end
without having spoken a dozen words to him, and he did not dare offer
to walk home with her, as he longed to do.

He felt a jealous certainty that she was vexed at Dallas, and decided
that it would take some scheming to divert her thoughts from his
handsome friend.

“But I’ll do it, for my heart’s gone, and I’m almost tempted to ask her
to marry me already, even if she is poor and not in our set, as Lutie
says. But, Jove! She’s the grandest beauty in the world! And wouldn’t
she make a sensation as my bride, covered with diamonds! Yes, I’ll win
her if I can, and I must manage to keep Dallas out of the running, for
she could not help showing disappointment when I said that about his
flirting with Lutie; but I’ll make her forget him directly, and all the
better for her, too, since I’m the better match of the two,” cogitated
Royall, who, though he knew that his effeminate blond beauty, so like
his cousin’s, could not compare with the dark splendor of tall and
striking Dallas Bain, still considered that his golden charms more than
counterbalanced the difference.

“All is fair in love or war,” he said coolly; and, pursuant of his
scheme to keep Dallas away from Daisie, he said to him that evening:

“Just as well that you didn’t go in to see Miss Bell to-day. She
is disappointing, really. Pretty as a picture, of course, but so
bread-and-butterish and schoolgirly, you know. Always posing for
effect, as my cousin said, but not much to her, after all, but simpers
and giggles.”

Dallas felt a keen thrill of disappointment and disgust, for Daisie’s
face had haunted him for many days, and it gave him a shock to think
that she was like what Royall said--simpering and giggling like a
silly schoolgirl. The young widow had treated him to enough of that,
trying to pose as girlish, despite her three years of wifehood and two
of widowhood, and he decided that he did not care to know Daisie now,
since even the careless Royall was no longer interested.

CHAPTER II.

THE OTHER ONE.

When Daisie Bell sat reading on the porch next day, a messenger brought
her a basket of rare flowers and a note from Royall Sherwood, asking
permission to call on her that evening.

She went in to her aunt, asking demurely what she ought to answer.

“Why, let him come, of course! Daisie Bell, you’re a lucky girl. This
Royall Sherwood is a millionaire, they tell me, and your face is pretty
enough to win him, or any other man.”

“Then I wish it had been the other man,” thought Daisie sadly, as she
went to answer the note.

“The other man” meant Dallas Bain, whose dark, manly beauty and earnest
glance into her eyes had made a deep impression on her heart.

His face was haunting her just as hers haunted him. It was a case of
mutual attraction--of love at first sight.

Heaven had made these two for each other, but adverse forces were busy
driving them apart.

Since Daisie had heard that Dallas was in love with the young widow,
she tried to drive his handsome face from her thoughts, and since
Dallas had been told that she was a simpering giggler he did not try
to see her any more, and regretted that he had anonymously sent her a
passionate love poem.

Yet he could not have helped being glad if he could have seen how she
read and reread it in blushing solitude, with an unerring conviction
that he had sent it--her hero of the brilliant dark eyes and winning
smile.

But now, when told that he loved another, she cherished painful doubts.

“I must be mistaken, since he did not care to know me, and went past
when Mr. Sherwood came in. Oh, why do I care? I do not even know him,
unless our souls spoke to each other in our glances when he passed
me by. And, of course, he is in love with that lovely little Lutie
Fleming. Yet I hoped--and was vain enough to fancy--that he sent me
these sweet verses,” half sobbed the girl, yet still reading them over
with a thrill at her heart.

Sweet girl, though only once we met,
That meeting I can ne’er forget;
And though we never meet again,
Remembrance will thy form retain.

What though we never silence broke,
Our eyes a sweeter language spoke;
And soul’s interpreters, the eyes,
Spurn cold restraints and scorn disguise.

Now as on thee my memory ponders,
Perchance to me thine also wanders;
This for myself at least I’ll say:
Thy form appears through night, through day.

Awake, with it, my fancy teems;
In sleep it smiles in fleeting dreams;
The vision charms the hours away,
And bids me curse Aurora’s ray
For breaking slumbers of delight,
Which make me wish for endless night.
Since--oh, whate’er my future fate,
Shall joy or woe my steps await,
By hopeless love’s wild storm beset,
Thy image I can ne’er forget!

“Perhaps Mr. Sherwood sent the verses,” she sighed, in her sad
disappointment; but on comparing them with his note she saw that the
writing was distinctly different, leaving her still a little fluttering
hope that Dallas Bain had indeed sent the poem, bitterly as she was
piqued that he had not cared to make her acquaintance.

When Royall called that evening she looked her loveliest, gowned in her
favorite white, and she made herself most charming, hoping, dear heart,
that he would tell Dallas Bain that she was such a charming girl he
really ought to make her acquaintance.

But nothing was farther from Royall’s thoughts. He was delighted to
find that she was rarely gifted and intelligent, but he kept his
knowledge closely to himself, never letting his friend know that he was
pursuing his acquaintance with Daisie, though he contrived to see her
every day in the week, and even took her to drive one afternoon when
the coast was clear, Dallas having stayed in to write some important
letters.

She was very kind and friendly with Royall, but he saw that she took a
secret, eager interest in Dallas, listening eagerly when he talked of
him, though he was careful never to say anything good, still hoping to
turn her heart to himself.

In fact, he pretended to decry the engagement he assumed to be existing
between Dallas and his pretty cousin.

“If I had guessed at anything like this, I’d never have brought him
to Sea View--never!” he said. “In fact, I told Lutie so to her face.
I said: ‘I haven’t the least idea of his antecedents, and you ought
not to encourage him unless he explains everything.’ But she was so
infatuated with the fellow she wouldn’t even let me hint such a thing
to him, and he’s as reticent over himself as if he were an escaped
convict--which he may be, for all we know,” argued Royall.

Daisie suppressed a sigh, and asked carelessly:

“But doesn’t he seem very nice? Isn’t he well educated,
and--and--doesn’t he write a fine hand?”

Royall fell into her little trap, and answered:

“Oh, his manner is charming; that’s what made me take up with him
first, you know--so frank and friendly; and he seems to be college
bred. As for his writing--see,” and he exhibited to the trembling girl
some random papers from his notebook, scribbled over with his friend’s
name and some poetical quotations.

He did not notice that Daisie trembled, that the color rushed to her
cheek and the light to her eyes, from pure joy.

The writing was identical with the poem. Her heart told her the truth.
Dallas Bain had written her those sweet verses. He loved her, after
all.

“I see how it is,” she thought, with keenest pain. “When he first saw
me, his heart went out to me, as did mine to him, in the thrilling
glance we exchanged. But he was already pledged to another, and could
not retreat in honor; so he dared not trust himself to know me better.
That was why the verses breathed such hopeless sadness.”

There was balm in the thought, for his avoidance had wounded her
cruelly until she thought she had fathomed the cause.

Alas! Alas! Strange decree of fate. Between this pair, who had never
even spoken to each other, only looked into each other’s eyes, love
had been born full-grown, though each tried to thrust it away--she,
believing it was hopeless; he, because he had been told by a false
schemer that she was as silly as she was fair.

“I am sorry now that I sent her the poem. I hope she will never find me
out, and gratify her vanity by telling her girl friends about it. When
girls are very silly they always boast of their conquests,” thought the
young man; and it vexed him sorely that so fair a face should go with
a shallow mind--vexed him, too, that her beauty should haunt him so,
not dreaming yet that its spell was immortal.

He thought that he must go away, and presently forgetfulness would
come. He ought to go away, anyhow, for Royall Sherwood did not seem as
friendly as of old--had grown careless and neglectful; and, as for Mrs.
Fleming, she was too kind, that was all; and he was afraid that she
might assume the supposed prerogative of the new woman, to woo and win.

In a very gray mood, he excused himself from her company one day,
saying that he had an engagement to ride with a fellow.

The fellow was himself; but he deemed any subterfuge permissible, since
she had made him read poetry to her till he was hoarse as a raven, and
he was wild to escape.

So he went to the livery stable, secured a light buggy, and set off for
a solitary ride along the beach.

“The only chance a fellow can get to think, with so many women about,
always chattering like magpies!” he muttered to himself, as he was
returning at a slow pace along the level sands, and watching the
setting sun as it spread long lances of rosy light across the restless
waves.

He had quite decided that he would leave Sea View to-morrow, and return
to New York.

There would be no trouble in getting away from Royall Sherwood, who
seemed already weary of him, and if the little widow got hysterical he
could say he had important letters calling him away.

If he had not been so absorbed in half-sad thoughts, and secondarily
interested in the sunset on the sea, he would not have forgotten what a
timid animal he was driving, and that it was unsafe to leave the reins
lying so slack on his back.

The beach was deserted, he thought, although only this morning it had
been alive with gay bathers and fearless bicyclists. So, unthinking
of danger, he drove on, and the voice of the sea, so solemn and
profound, blending with his pensive thoughts, drowned the voices of two
fair young girls wheeling toward him on their bicycles, one dark and
sparkling, the other very fair and lovely.

Suddenly the spirited pony, looking ahead, saw the shining wheels
spinning toward him, and took unexpected fright, and swerved from his
course. Whinnying with fear, and plunging forward before Dallas could
restrain him, he dashed upon the very object of his fright, his forward
hoofs striking the wheel and overthrowing the fair rider before she
could turn out of his way, just as Dallas reined him in with a grasp
like steel.

Oh, horrors! There lay the poor girl on the sands, beneath her wheel,
still as death! And as Dallas sprang from the buggy the other girl
jumped from her wheel in grief and reproach.

“Alas, alas! You have killed sweet Daisie Bell!”

He answered with a cry of anguish, for there at their feet lay the
lovely girl, her sweet eyes closed, her golden curls trailing on the
sands, while a thin stream of blood trickled down her cheek from a
little cut on her temple.

Dallas and Miss Janowitz--for it was the beautiful brunette again--bent
over the prostrate girl, and they saw that she was quite unconscious,
stunned, perhaps, by the blow on her temple, received either from the
horse’s hoof or a shell on the sands.

“It was an accident--I would give my life if it had not happened!” he
cried wildly, and she saw that his face grew pale as Daisie’s while he
felt for her heart, adding: “She cannot be dead, only stunned a little,
I think. Oh, if she could but have turned aside as quickly as you did!”

Annette wrung her little hands, and her dark eyes filled with tears as
she cried:

“Poor Daisie! She was just learning to ride, and was not skillful
enough to get out of the way. Oh, what shall we do now, Mr. Bain?”

“Why, I will take her home in my buggy, and you had better remount your
wheel and go for the doctor as fast as you can.”

Annette called a curious urchin loitering near to ride Daisie’s wheel
back to town, and the sad procession started on its return, Annette
soon leaving the buggy far in the rear in her haste to obtain a
physician for her friend.

It was several miles back to the cottage, and Dallas Bain would never
forget that ride, nor the love and grief that thrilled his heart as
beautiful Daisie rested against it like a dead girl, with the dark
fringe of her lashes prone upon her pallid cheeks. All his thoughts
were prayers that she might soon revive, and a little before he turned
into Temple Street he saw her breast heave slightly and her eyelids
quiver. The next moment they unclosed, while a moan of pain came from
her colorless lips.

He could not help pressing her a little tighter in his arms for very
joy, as he murmured tenderly:

“Do not be frightened, little Daisie. I am Dallas Bain, you know, and I
am taking you home because you fainted.”

“Yes, I remember now. I fell from my wheel--your horse knocked me
down!” She shuddered; and then, looking up into his face, Dallas saw
her blush as she felt herself in his arms. “I--oh, I can sit up!” she
murmured; but the effort made her moan with pain, and he said, with
gentle authority:

“Lie still, child, for you are hurt, you know, and must not move.”

CHAPTER III.

THE SPELL OF LOVE.

Daisie was certainly suffering severely, but it was balm for her pain
to see the eyes of Dallas Bain rest on her with such tenderness, and
though she was thrillingly conscious that his arms held her more
tightly than was necessary, even in her weakness, she did not rebel;
the sensation gave her a happiness that she had never known before.

Directly they reached the house and found that Annette had the doctor
waiting, they carried her tenderly in, and Dallas waited on the porch
with an anxious heart for the verdict.

“The accident was all my fault, and every pang of her suffering wrings
my heart!” he groaned to himself.

Soon the warm-hearted little Annette put an end to his suspense by
running downstairs to tell him that Daisie had no serious injuries. The
cut on her brow was superficial; she had some bruises and a sprained
ankle, that was all. She would have to keep quiet on a sofa for a few
days, then she would be all right again.

What a light of joy flashed into those dark eyes of Dallas Bain at the
joyful tidings, as he cried:

“Ah, how happy you make me, for if she had been seriously hurt I never
could have forgiven myself for the carelessness that made such an
accident possible. Will you tell her for me that I will call to-morrow
morning to ask her forgiveness?”

Annette promised freely--she was such a romantic little thing--and she
was sure that he had fallen in love with her lovely friend. As she was
already engaged herself to the dearest fellow in Cincinnati, she did
not experience any pangs of jealousy.

So when the doctor was gone and Daisie resting easily, she whispered
his message, and added:

“You have made quite a conquest, I am sure, by this accident, for if
ever I saw love in a man’s eyes for a girl, it shone in Dallas Bain’s
for you!”

Daisie blushed and demurred, but her heart was full of joy. She forgot
all about Royall Sherwood, who had gone to New York last evening to be
absent two days. She could think of nothing but the message and the
visit she was to receive next morning. If she spent a restless night,
it was not so much from her injuries as from happy suspense.

She had longed so eagerly to know him, and when she had given up hope
at last this blessing had come to her so suddenly that it made her
forget everything else that she ought to remember.

The next morning she pretended to be feeling much better than she
really was, so that the doctor would permit her to be helped down to
the parlor to lie on the little blue sofa. When he gave his consent,
she insisted on wearing her very daintiest white morning gown, with
fluffy lace trimmings, though her aunt said she didn’t see that it
mattered how she dressed, seeing that Mr. Sherwood was away.

Daisie answered, with a burning blush:

“It is Mr. Sherwood’s friend that is coming to call on me; so, of
course, I want to look nice.”

This satisfied the old lady, and when Dallas Bain came at the earliest
permissible hour she simply ushered him into the parlor and left him
alone with Daisie, excusing herself on the plea of domestic duties.

They were alone together--the pair of unacknowledged lovers--in the
simple, dainty room, with its blue-and-white hangings that harmonized
so exquisitely with the girl’s radiant fairness. The summer breeze
swayed the lace curtains at the window and diffused the odor of white
roses growing on a bush outside, disposing the mind to thoughts of love
and purity.

Daisie, in her soft white robe, with her bandaged foot on a cushion,
and the loose curls of her shining hair veiling her form in sunshine,
reclined on a sofa, looking very unlike an invalid, so bright were her
eyes and so rosy her face from the warm blood that coursed through her
throbbing heart.

Dallas bent down and took her soft white hand in a gentle pressure,
murmuring audaciously:

“I ought to be repenting in dust and ashes the accident that caused you
such pain, I know; but--how can I regret the accident that gave me the
delight of knowing you, Miss Bell?”

He had quite forgotten that he had decided two weeks ago that it was
not worth his while trying to know her, forgotten that Royall Sherwood
had told him she was silly.

The incidents of yesterday had drawn them nearer together than months
of formal acquaintance could have done.

He had held that sweet form in his arms, close to his heart, during a
long ride, had feasted his eyes, unreproved, on her beauty, had even
dared press reverent lips on her golden hair and one limp white hand.

It seemed to him, in the delirium of love that had come upon him, that
all this made her his own, sealed her as his, to have and to hold
forever.

He drew a chair close to her sofa, and they began to talk to each
other--incoherently, I am afraid, for how could they preserve the
formal dignity of strangers?--and very soon he saw that her mind was as
lovely as her face, her words well chosen, her voice low and musical,
her smile like sunshine, and her laughter a chime of silver bells.

If he had been keeping back a remnant of his heart, he surrendered now
at discretion to this adorable creature.

Within half an hour he was saying gently:

“Do you know that I seem to have known you a long while, although we
never spoke to each other till yesterday? Yet it is, after all, only
two weeks since I first saw you. Since that day you have never been out
of my thoughts.”

His beautiful dark eyes seemed to hold her violet ones in a fascinated
gaze. She could not remove them, though she felt the rosy blushes
bathing cheek and brow. Their glances mingled caressingly, and, taking
her unresisting hand in his, he continued, in low, thrilling accents:

“Forgive me if I seem rash and forward, taking advantage of your
gentleness; but, Daisie Bell, I love you with the passion of my life,
though it may be madness to avow it, though it may meet your scorn.
But the softness of your gaze inspires me with some little hope that
you are not indifferent to my love, that I may win you--by long
devotion--to be my bride.”

How pale her cheek grew--pale as yesterday, when she lay unconscious on
his breast after that perilous accident! What a startled look came into
her violet eyes!

CHAPTER IV.

FALSE.

Dallas Bain was startled by the young girl’s emotion, and his own cheek
paled with sorrow as he cried hoarsely:

“You are angry with me for my presumption? I was too hasty, but my love
must be my excuse. Will you forgive me?”

Daisie put out the little hand he had dropped in his alarm, and as he
clasped it again he felt the soft pressure of fingers twining about his
own as she whispered, in a choked voice:

“You startled me, but--but--I am not angry. For how could I be,
when--when----”

She stopped, tears rushing to her eyes.

What could she mean? he thought. Did she--did she care also, as he had
dared to hope?

Trembling with hope, the color rushing to his brow, he bent over the
agitated girl, and read hope in the trembling smile of the coral lips.

“Oh, Daisie, will you love me?” he cried impetuously, and she answered,
with a broken sob:

“Oh, how could I help it, dear?”

And then he dared to kiss her, and for the space of five minutes heaven
seemed to come down to earth in that rare bliss of mutual love.

Absorbed in sweet assurances of tenderness, they did not hear the
crunching of carriage wheels that stopped at the gate, nor the rustle
of a silken robe as a fine little lady came up the steps. But Aunt
Alice saw the sight from an upper window, and hurried down to admit the
pretty, airy little visitor.

“Mrs. Bell, I presume?” she twittered. “Well, I am Mrs. Fleming, cousin
of Royall Sherwood, you know. I came to call on Miss Daisie, having
heard she had been injured in an accident.”

And scarcely had Dallas pushed back his chair from its close proximity
to the sofa when she was in the room, aflutter with laces and ribbons
and flaxen crinkles.

“Why, Mr. Bain, this is a surprise! I--I did not know you were
acquainted with Miss Bell,” she broke out, in dismay and alarm.

Dallas was a trifle disconcerted, but he rallied himself and answered
lightly:

“I was not until yesterday, when my horse knocked her off her wheel
and nearly caused a fatal accident. So I came this morning to beg her
forgiveness.”

Mrs. Fleming gave a grating laugh, and answered maliciously:

“Perhaps Daisie may forgive you if she is very kind-hearted, but I am
sure my Cousin Royall never will.”

“Royall!” he exclaimed, in bewilderment; but she fluttered over
Daisie’s sofa, cooing in her most gushing way:

“My dear girl, may I kiss you? Royall told yesterday of his engagement
to you, and that he was going all the way to New York to get a splendid
diamond ring for you. We shall be cousins, you and I--and, I hope,
great friends. Why--why, what is the matter? The girl is fainting!”

Dallas had heard every word in surprise and horror, and suddenly he
clutched the young widow’s arm in a steely grasp.

“What nonsense are you talking to Daisie?” he exclaimed. “She is
nothing to Royall! She has promised to marry me!”

“Impossible, Mr. Bain, impossible; for only the night before last she
accepted my cousin, and he has gone now to buy the most magnificent
engagement ring in New York,” cried the young widow, in defiance and
amazement at his claim.

“He has lied to you! She belongs to me!” repeated Dallas hoarsely; and
she answered:

“Then she is a wretched little flirt, for she surely gave her promise
to Royall. Ask her--see, she is reviving--and she cannot deny it.”

He stooped down to look into the girl’s white face, his own just as
pallid and startled, crying, with passionate incredulity:

“Is it true, Daisie Bell? Are you indeed so false and wicked?”

“Dallas! Oh, my love!” she sobbed, in strange affright, covering her
face with her lily hands as if in shame.

“Is it true? Are you engaged to him--to us both?” he thundered
wrathfully.

“Oh, Dallas, yes; but--but--hear me!” she wailed imploringly; but he
threw off her hand as if it were a serpent, and rushed from the house.

CHAPTER V.

A CRUEL COQUETTE.

A cry of the bitterest grief and yearning burst from Daisie’s lips as
Dallas angrily shook off her hold and rushed from the house.

“Oh, Dallas, my love, my darling, come back--come back, and I will
explain everything!”

She would have followed him, but as she sprang erect a terrible twinge
of pain in her sprained ankle made her fall back on the sofa, sobbing
with pain; and meanwhile Dallas Bain had rushed from the place in a
dazed condition of mind, in which surprise, anger, and wounded love all
blended in confusion.

The feelings of the gay little widow, Mrs. Fleming, may better be
imagined than described in finding out that the man she adored was
madly in love with another.

Grief, rage, and jealousy struggled in her mind, but she gave vent to
neither, holding in her emotion firmly while she said, in a cold voice,
to the sobbing girl:

“Miss Bell, this is the strangest scene I ever witnessed. I came here
this morning to offer my good wishes on your engagement to Royall
Sherwood, and find another man making love to you in his absence. Is
this fair to my cousin?”

Daisie’s only answer was a heartbroken sob behind the lovely white
hands that hid her face, and Mrs. Fleming continued reproachfully:

“I could not have believed that such an innocent face hid the heart of
a cruel coquette, playing fast and loose with true men’s hearts.”

“Oh, don’t!” sobbed poor Daisie, flinching as from a blow, and lifting
tearful eyes, like violets drowned in rain, to the angry face of her
accuser.

“You deserve all I have said, and worse,” retorted the widow
vindictively, longing to shake the girl because she had wiled away the
heart of Dallas Bain.

With all her money and all her advantages, he had remained cold as ice
to her blandishments; but she had seen for herself that he was devoted
to Daisie Bell.

And she knew that his acquaintance with her dated only from yesterday,
because only last night she had met Annette Janowitz at a dance, and
the excitable little thing, not knowing the harm she was doing, had
blurted out the story of Daisie’s accident and the apparent devotion of
Dallas Bain.

“Oh, isn’t he grand and handsome! Just the match for lovely Daisie
Bell! I declare, if I were not already engaged to the dearest and most
jealous fellow in the world, I should have been trying to flirt with
Dallas Bain!” added Annette, rearranging the bunch of red roses at her
belt, and so failing to see the jealous wrath on the little widow’s
pink-and-white face.

She was fairly wild with annoyance, but even then she did not
comprehend the full extent of the mischief, for Royall Sherwood, on
leaving for New York that day, had confided to her that he was engaged
to Daisie Bell, but that she had not wished to make the engagement
public yet a while, dreading village gossip and curiosity.

“Now, Lutie,” added Royall, “I do think you ought to do the fair thing
by Daisie.”

“What do you mean?”

“Why, call on her and invite her to Sea View on a visit. Of course, I
understand that you’ve been jealous all the while, and wouldn’t have
her here on account of Dallas Bain. But now we’re engaged, you needn’t
mind.”

But an unerring instinct made Mrs. Fleming persist in her refusal.

“You ask too much, Royall. I won’t have the girl here till I’m sure of
Dallas Bain,” she protested, in alarm.

“You’re still determined to marry him, if you can get him, coz?”

“Yes, I am; and I don’t care to bring him and that girl together, even
if she is engaged to you. She’s dangerous, I tell you; and he’s in love
with her, I’m certain, though they’ve never spoken a single word to
each other. No telling what might happen if they got together.”

“Perhaps you’re right,” said Royall, looking uneasy and remembering
that Daisie had betrayed such interest in Dallas that he had been
forced into no end of fibs to destroy the romance with which she had
invested him. “Perhaps you’re right. Better let well enough alone,” he
agreed, and went away to buy the engagement ring.

But chance or fate is above us all and our petty scheming, as she
found out that night at the dance, and in consequence she altered her
plan of ignoring Daisie Bell.

What Annette had told her about Dallas going the next morning to beg
Daisie’s pardon for the accident made her wild; hence her early call at
the cottage and her malicious blurting out of the engagement.

When she found out how far matters had progressed between the lovers,
she realized that she had scarcely called soon enough, but she was
thankful, anyway, that she had driven Dallas away in wrath, and trusted
to her woman’s wit to make the breach final.

Daisie’s wet eyes and quivering red mouth did not make her the least
sorry for the wretched girl; she only persevered in her denunciations:

“What will Royall say when he hears of this shocking flirtation? He
will want to break the engagement.”

“That is what I wish him to do!” returned Daisie courageously.

“Well, I never!” sighed the little widow; and added: “Why did you
accept him, then, if you didn’t want him, Miss Bell?”

“I will tell you the truth, may I, Mrs. Fleming?” cried Daisie timidly,
dashing the tears from her eyes, and blushing with shame as she
continued: “I was persuaded into that promise when my heart wasn’t
in it, because--because--first, Aunt Alice was wild with foolish joy
because I had caught such a rich beau, and kept begging me over and
over to accept him. And then, too, Mr. Sherwood was so much in love
with me, and begged me so hard that I would marry him. At first I
wouldn’t think of it, for--well, I had fallen in love with Mr. Dallas
Bain at first sight, and as long as there was any hope of winning him I
wouldn’t have listened to any one else--never! But he--Mr. Sherwood, I
mean--must have suspected my preference, for he told me things that I
found out to-day weren’t true--for instance, that Mr. Bain was engaged
to you; but when I asked him about it to-day he laughed at the very
idea!”

Mrs. Fleming winced with rage and pain, but the unconscious girl went
on eagerly, pathetically, in her earnest self-exculpation:

“But before I knew how he had deceived me, I thought Mr. Sherwood very
nice, indeed--for he is very amusing, really, and very good-looking,
too--only, of course, not as handsome as Mr. Bain, who is perfectly
grand, and no one else is worth looking at when he is by. But he did
not seem to care about me in the least, although I found out that he
had sent me an anonymous love poem; and I began to get piqued, and then
hopeless, thinking he really did mean to marry you. And Aunt Alice
kept coaxing and firing my ambition with your cousin’s riches, and
he kept teasing and making himself agreeable--perhaps you know how a
sore, aching heart may sometimes take comfort in the devotion of one
it does not care for, and find in it some balm for wounded love and
pride--so at last I consented, hoping I might learn to love him after,
but stipulating that the engagement be kept secret a little while, for
I feared that I might change, and, wish to break it, and did not want
to make such a sensation public.”

She paused, and fixed her pleading eyes on the other’s face, but it was
cold, white, and stony, betraying no sympathy.

Clasping her little hands piteously, Daisie Bell continued nervously:

“So Mr. Sherwood went away with my rash promise, and--and--yesterday
I went out on my new wheel with my friend Annette, and, as I was not
a very skillful cyclist, that awful accident happened. I might easily
have been killed,” shudderingly. “Well, Mr. Bain brought me home in
his buggy, and when I revived from my fainting spell he was holding
me in his arms, and--oh, I blush to tell you!--but my heart rushed
out to him! I realized I loved him wildly, madly, and could never
love another. This morning he came--we could not meet formally--and
we talked like old acquaintances. I hinted about his marrying you,
but he denied it. I began to see that he--cared for me”--blushing
vividly--“and I quickly made up my mind to break with Mr. Sherwood
because he had deceived me intentionally, so as to leave me free to
accept Dallas when he should propose. Oh, please don’t look as though
you think me the vainest girl on earth! Indeed, I am not! And so, all
at once, before I expected it, Dallas was impetuously asking me to
marry him, and I accepted, meaning, of course, to tell him presently
all about that other affair, and that I should break with Mr. Sherwood
immediately; but in five minutes, before I had confessed to him,
you came, and--spoiled--everything!” concluded Daisie, with a sob of
despair.

Then she caught her breath, and waited; but Mrs. Fleming said never a
word, only looked cold and incredulous.

Daisie rallied her courage, and persevered humbly:

“You see how it was, Mrs. Fleming, don’t you? I was weak, but not
wicked. As for flirting, I never thought of it. I execrate it as much
as you do, and I am very sorry I ever listened to your cousin. But you
must see that he was to blame. Why did he try to prejudice me against
the man I loved? He might have guessed I would find it out some time.”

Mrs. Fleming found her voice, and said huskily, trying to remedy
Royall’s defeat and her own:

“You misjudge my cousin. He thought I was engaged to Mr. Bain because
he knew he loved me, and I was very friendly with him. But when he
proposed I refused him, because I couldn’t love a stranger I knew
nothing about. It was simply through spite he turned to you, but he
is gone now in anger, so my advice to you is to keep your promise to
Royall, and let him go.”

“Could you advise me to act so basely? No, I can never marry Mr.
Sherwood now. When he comes I want you to tell him all that happened
here to-day, and that I set him free.”

“Indeed, I shall tell him nothing of the kind! I would not give him
such pain as to tell him the girl he loves is a cruel little coquette.
Think better of it, Daisie Bell, and marry Royall, who is so rich, and
can give you a palace for a home and diamonds a princess might envy. He
is of a sweet, sunny disposition, too, and will make you far happier
than Dallas Bain, who is sullen, violent, and jealous. Besides, he is
gone away, and you will never see him again, so I will keep your secret
of this morning, and Royall need never know it,” coaxed the little
widow.

CHAPTER VI.

“I CANNOT GIVE UP MY LOVE.”

But all her pleadings could not move Daisie from her resolve to tell
Royall everything and break her engagement. She persisted in it, crying
pleadingly:

“Oh, if you really want to do me a kindness, you must help me with
Dallas. He is at your house, and you will see him when you go back.
Won’t you tell him how it all came about, that I love only him, and ask
him to forgive me and come back to me again?”

She did not know that she was pleading to a woman who loved Dallas so
madly that she would rather have seen him dead than married to another;
but somehow she could not believe the story that he had proposed to
Lutie Fleming and been refused. Daisie believed that any woman would be
glad to accept such a splendid lover. She told herself that the artful
young widow was just trying to shield her cousin and to further his
cause.

Mrs. Fleming said decisively:

“I decline to speak to Dallas Bain on this subject, or to work against
my cousin’s interests in any way, and I believe that when you come to
your sober senses, girl, you will be glad enough to keep this affair a
secret and marry Royall, after all.”

So saying, she swept from the room and rustled out to her carriage,
nodding a careless greeting to Annette Janowitz, who was just entering
the gate, and who went in the open doors with a friendly familiarity,
and found Daisie sobbing with hysterical grief on her sofa.

“Oh, my poor dear, is your foot so bad?” queried she, with quick
sympathy; and presently she drew from her friend the story of the
morning’s happenings.

“Oh, Annette, I cannot give him up! I love him so dearly! You will help
me to win him back, won’t you, dear?”

“Indeed, I will, if you will only tell me what I can do for you,”
responded Annette, the tears of sympathy shining in her bright dark
eyes.

Daisie thought a few moments, very seriously, and then announced her
plan:

“Write him a friendly note, Annette, asking him to call at your house
this evening and see you about a very particular matter. Don’t mention
my name, or, in his first resentment, he might refuse to come.”

Annette nodded her approval, and said:

“And when he arrives I must explain your affair to him, and beg him to
forgive you, and come and see you?”

“If you will be so kind, dear Annette,” murmured Daisie, whose shining
eyes were dried now in the sunshine of hope.

Annette went to the writing desk, and penned a dainty little note,
inviting Dallas Bain to call on her that evening, as she wished to
consult him about his taking part in some private theatricals they were
planning for a village charity.

“I have heard that he is a splendid amateur actor, so he will not
refuse,” she said gleefully. “And I can tell him afterward that it was
just a ruse to get him to my house to plead your cause. Depend upon
it, he will be overjoyed to learn that you intend to throw over Royall
Sherwood for his sake,” she added encouragingly.

“Now, Annette, please run out to the post office at the corner, and
post it quickly, so that he will not fail to get it this afternoon,”
cried Daisie, with feverish impatience.

Annette went as requested, and when she returned she said joyously:

“Oh, Daisie, I wish you were as happy as I am! I am engaged, you know,
and only think--I had a letter from my dear boy this morning, saying
that he is coming to see me to-morrow. He is a commercial traveler, you
know, and just perfectly magnificent! The only drawback is that he’s
just horridly jealous, and does not permit me to look at any other man.”

“Well, you need not want to, if you love him. I would not care if there
were not another man in the world to look at but Dallas!” cried Daisie
tenderly.

“Oh, I dare say you may be tired of looking at him some day when you
are married to him!” laughed Annette; but she could not persuade Daisie
of it. She was in love in the most romantic fashion.

While the girls laid their innocent plans for calling back Daisie’s
lover, Mrs. Fleming rode back to Sea View with fury in her heart--the
fury of “a woman scorned.”

Keen and bitter had been her humiliation when Daisie had said so
innocently:

“He laughed at the idea of marrying you!”

Her last hope of winning him was gone now, and jealous anger entered
her heart and drove out the sweet guest, Love.

She hated and envied Daisie Bell with a hatred beyond all telling.

“She took him away from me--came between us with her dazzling face--I
might still have won him if they had not met. Very well, I will punish
them both most bitterly,” she vowed. “As for marrying, they never
shall, if a woman’s wit can prevent it.”

As soon as she entered the house, she ascertained that Dallas Bain had
not yet returned.

Her young-lady guests were down at the beach, and she went to her room
to rest and plot how to keep the lovers apart for the future.

“I dare say she wrote to him as soon as I came away, explaining
everything, and begging him to come back to her,” she thought astutely.
“I must make sure of getting that letter.”

And as the village was so small that the letter-carrier service was
not yet established, she presently sent her maid, Letty, to the post
office, saying:

“Bring everything that is in the Sea View box straight to me, Letty,
before you let any one else see it. My cousin, Mr. Sherwood, wanted me
to get out of it some private mail for him.”

Letty Green returned in an hour with a budget of letters, books, and
papers for her mistress and her guests; but she had made sure, with
feminine curiosity, first, that there was nothing for Royall Sherwood;
also, that there was one very dainty-looking perfumed letter for Dallas
Bain, bearing the town postmark, Gull Beach.

This was what Mrs. Fleming expected, and as soon as the maid’s back was
turned she opened and read it, laughing to herself:

“She has planned with Annette to get him back; but Dallas Bain will
never see this letter, and the two young misses will be disappointed
this evening.”

CHAPTER VII.

TEMPTED TO END IT ALL.

Words are too weak to describe the feelings of Dallas Bain as he rushed
with frenzied haste from the presence of the beautiful girl so lately
worshiped as the queen of her sex, only to learn that she was the most
heartless coquette in the world.

Never was there such a rapid transition from rapturous joy to the
depths of misery--misery and anger, for how could any proud man bear
with equanimity to be made a fool of, as Daisie Bell had just fooled
him?

To be engaged only two days ago to Royall Sherwood, although of their
intimacy he had had no inkling until now, and then to accept another’s
suit with the most complacent smile and the sweetest blush, pretending
a tenderness she, of course, did not feel--it was the most shocking
thing he ever had heard of. He loathed, execrated himself for falling
so easily into her wiles.

He was strong, passionate, and proud, and only twenty-five--this hero
of ours--so who could blame him for the pride and resentment that fired
his blood as he rushed from the scene of his humiliation, not heeding
the piteous cry of woe with which Daisie sought to recall him to her
side?

He strode down the village street in hot haste, looking neither to the
right nor left until he reached the beach, where he sought a secluded
spot by the sea, where none could intrude upon his rocky retreat, and
flung himself down to brood over his cruel defeat in love.

And any young man--and there may be several--who has been made the
victim of a lovely flirt can better imagine than I can describe the
tumult of his feelings.

His pain was cruel, almost unbearable, and the most intense longing
came to him to throw himself into the surging sea and end everything
for good and all.

But pride forbid the rash deed.

“She shall not know how she wounded me. I will not give her that
triumph,” he vowed grimly, adding: “I’ll go to Sea View presently,
pack up my traps, and leave before Sherwood returns to laugh with
his fiancée over fooling me, although it looks as if there may have
been foul play somewhere, for why did he tell me she was a simpering
giggler, when she is really charming in her manners? And why did he
keep up a clandestine acquaintance with her, not permitting me to
suspect it, while all the time he was courting her with such devotion?
He must have been afraid of me, jealous somehow, though why I can’t
guess, for men like him, with loads of money, have only to throw the
handkerchief, and any girl he looks at will jump--only too glad of the
chance. This Daisie Bell, with her rare beauty, will be only too glad
to marry him, of course--even if she loved some poor man better. Bah!
The whole business disgusts me. I’ll go away out of the whole mess
before to-morrow.”

Just then, to his intense disgust, for he despised petticoats at that
moment, he heard a chatter of feminine voices, which he recognized as
belonging to Mrs. Fleming’s guests--the Misses Brown, Miss Nadia Lee,
and Mrs. Poyntz, a jolly young matron. They peeped over the ledge of
rocks where he was hiding, and the married lady exclaimed delightedly:

“Oh, there’s Mr. Bain hiding from us, the naughty man! Come up here
directly, sir, and go with us after shells, and help carry our buckets
and spades. I’m going back to Baltimore to-morrow, and my collection of
shells isn’t half complete.”

In his gray mood, Dallas would have liked to have sworn at the merry
quartet; but as he was a gentleman, he could not afford to indulge
his vicious impulse, so, throwing away the cigar with which he was
beguiling his gloomy thoughts, he joined the party with secret
reluctance, execrating Nadia Lee when she said banteringly:

“How gloomy you looked when we were peeping over that rock at you--so
dark and preoccupied--like Byron composing poetry.”

“Pshaw! I never made a rhyme in my life! Wouldn’t be guilty of such
nonsense! I was just thinking how confoundedly lazy I felt over going
up to the house and packing my things to leave to-morrow,” he replied
testily.

“Oh, you’re going away? And so is Mrs. Poyntz. Our party will be quite
broken up,” wailed the damsels; but he would not even say he was sorry.
He wished them all in the sea, being angry at the whole fair sex for
the fault of one, such being the injustice of man.

However, as he was the soul of courtesy, he could not break away from
their blandishments, and they led him such a dance along the beach in
search of shells, that it was several hours before they returned to Sea
View, Mrs. Poyntz having triumphantly produced a nice lunch with which
the housekeeper had provided them. Returning at last, he fled to his
room to pack his traps for flitting, though he had to leave out his
dinner suit, as he could not conveniently flee without explanations to
his hostess.

She waylaid him when he came downstairs, smiling sweetly as she said in
an undertone:

“It’s twenty minutes to dinner yet, so come to the library. I have
something to say to you in private.”

Dallas thought how fair she looked in her cool, flowing robes of pale
green and white, with a pink rose in her crinkles of flaxen hair--how
fair--and perhaps had he loved her, instead of false Daisie Bell,
she might have been true; but, pshaw! they were all alike, heartless
and vain. His bachelor uncle who had raised him--a noble man whose
happiness had been wrecked by a siren’s wiles--had told him so, had
instilled into his mind a distrust of the weaker sex.

They walked together to the library, and then he said:

“I wanted to speak to you, to thank you for your kindness and
hospitality, because I have just been packing up, and will leave before
morning.”

“Indeed, I am sorry. You--you--are running away from that girl.”

“Not exactly. I planned to leave a week ago, and should have gone on
business, you see,” vaguely; “but the charm of the place held me,
somehow. Well, of course, it wouldn’t be pleasant to meet Royall again
after what has happened, so I am going before he comes.”

“He will be so sorry!” sweetly.

“No, I don’t think so,” brusquely. “He has been distant to me lately,
and--and--why,” irately, “did he keep it a dead secret from me that he
was courting--that girl? Was it friendly?”

“Oh, I can explain it fully. He meant nothing. He told me you didn’t
care to make the girl’s acquaintance, and he somehow was ashamed of
his infatuation with a girl not in his set. He went just to amuse
himself at first, but directly she got him in her toils--as she did
you--and he proposed, and, of course, was snapped up directly. I was
sorry enough, I assure you, for I don’t like the match. She may be in
love with Royall, or she may be taking him for his money. They say in
the town she’s the most arrant little flirt alive.”

“A true bill,” he commented shortly.

“Yes; and this is what I wished to say to you. She begged me
to--intercede with you.”

“With me?” and the hot blood rushed to his temples.

“Yes. Wasn’t it a piece of impudence? But she got around me with that
winning way of hers that makes fools of all the men--and some of the
women, too--and I promised to keep her secret myself, and to beg you.”

“Her secret?”

“Yes; that she flirted with you. She’s afraid for Royall to find out
lest he break the engagement. And she cried, and vowed she loved him
truly, though I fear it’s just his money. She said: ‘Oh, Mrs. Fleming,
no one knows it but you and Mr. Bain. Don’t betray me to dear Royall,
please don’t; and ask him--Mr. Bain, that dear, impetuous fellow--not
to tell of me. I did wrong, I know; but he was so much in earnest, and
I was only having a little fun. And Mr. Bain owes me something for
causing me that accident yesterday.’”

His great eyes flashed with contempt, and he cried hotly:

“Very well, then. I will pay my debt by silence. Tell her she need not
fear that I shall betray her to Royall. I am as much ashamed of that
affair as she is, and I wish I could say, as she does, that I was only
having a little fun. But I was in earnest, as she knows, and so--I must
suffer,” bitterly.

“But you must not learn to despise true, loving women for the sake
of one false coquette,” she murmured, and just then dinner was
ceremoniously announced.

CHAPTER VIII.

A TERRIBLE MISTAKE.

So Annette waited in vain that evening for Dallas Bain to call in reply
to her invitation, and she could hardly wait till after breakfast the
next morning to rush to Daisie and tell her the bad news.

Daisie was still in bed, for her sprained foot was worse this morning
from her rash effort to walk on it yesterday. Tears rushed to her
lovely eyes, and she sobbed aloud with grief and disappointment.

“I see how it is, Annette,” she cried. “He misunderstands me, and is
too proud to give a sign that he cares. He will never forgive me until
I explain everything to him.”

“Write him a letter, and I will carry it to him myself, and plead your
cause in person. Then his hard heart will surely be melted,” returned
the vivacious little beauty.

So Daisie was propped up in bed, and, with a throbbing heart and
blushes that came and went like the roseate glow of dawn, she penned
Dallas Bain the sweetest epistle that ever gladdened a true lover’s
heart.

She was fighting for her life’s happiness, dear little Daisie, and
every word was eloquent with truth and love. Ah, the pity of it that he
had gone away too soon to receive it--gone away with that proud, aching
heart and that distrust of all fair women for the sake of one cruel
misunderstanding.

Annette took the letter and beamed encouragingly upon her forlorn
friend.

“Now, cheer up, Daisie, for I shall have him here to call on you this
evening,” she predicted brightly. “You see, I owe Mrs. Fleming a party
call, and I will go to make it this afternoon. I shall be sure to see
Mr. Bain there, and I will give him this letter, and make sure he reads
it; then all the trouble will be over.”

She kissed Daisie, and went away smilingly, for Annette’s disposition
was bright and sunny; besides, wasn’t her own dear lover coming to see
her to-day? And what more could a pretty girl want to make her happy?

As she did not know at what hour he might arrive, she told her mamma
that if he came while she was absent, to ask him to wait till she
returned.

And, by a very untoward fate, the big, handsome fellow arrived soon
after she started, and when Mamma Janowitz told him where Annette
had gone, he said he would go on and overtake her, as he also was
acquainted with Mrs. Fleming, and would like to make a call at Sea View.

Meanwhile, Annette, all glorious in her new summer silk and big white
lace hat crowning her dark, bewitching face, tripped away to the grand
white house, Sea View, only to meet a most cruel disappointment.

The manservant who opened the door to her suavely remarked that Mrs.
Fleming and her guests all went up to Baltimore this morning, not to
return till to-morrow.

“And Mr. Dallas Bain--did he go with them?” she queried.

“Oh, no, miss; he went away at daylight this morning--took the Northern
train.”

Annette paled with disappointment, and almost burst into tears, as she
asked eagerly:

“Is he coming back any more?”

“No, miss; his visit is over, and I’m sorry for that, too. He was a
fine, handsome gent, was Mr. Bain, and a liberal one, too,” returned
the man affably.

“Where did he go? Can you give me his address?” asked the young girl,
thinking disconsolately of poor Daisie’s letter.

The man replied that he did not know for certain. He thought he had
gone to New York to join Mr. Sherwood.

So Annette went down the steps, after leaving her card for Mrs.
Fleming, and her young heart was very heavy as she walked toward a
vine-wreathed arbor in the grounds, thinking she would rest there a
while before starting on the long walk home.

And just as she entered the beautiful rose bower her betrothed, Ray
Dering, came in at the street gate and saw her going in. His heart
thrilled with joy, and he resolved to slip up unawares and give his
darling sweetheart a most charming surprise.

But Letty Green, Mrs. Fleming’s sharp little maid, had overheard
Annette’s conversation at the door, and, having more than her share
of feminine curiosity, she resolved to find out something more about
Annette’s interest in Mr. Bain, thinking it might be a nice bit of
gossip to tell her mistress while she was dressing her hair that night,
and perhaps be the means of her getting a cast-off silk gown.

So she ran breathlessly after Annette, and rushed into the arbor,
exclaiming:

“Did you want to know Mr. Bain’s address so very bad, miss?”

Annette turned, and saw such a kind, sympathetic face that she clasped
her little hands dramatically, saying:

“Oh, yes, indeed; for I wished very--very much to see Mr. Bain, and I
am cruelly disappointed that he has gone away without letting me know.
It is very sad, very unfortunate, that he went away so soon; but if I
can get his address so as to mail him a letter at once, I shall be very
thankful to you!”

Any one not knowing the circumstances of the case might have supposed,
from Annette’s impulsive words and tearful eyes, that she was
desperately in love with Dallas Bain, and that he had basely deserted
her. The artful maid received that impression, and so, alas! did the
jealous lover listening outside the bower.

Letty Green smiled, and said artfully:

“He must have gone away in anger?”

“Oh, yes, he did; but if I can only get a letter to him soon, I am sure
he will come back at once. Can you give me his address?”

“I don’t know it, miss; but I will find it out from Mrs. Fleming and
let you know to-morrow.”

“Oh, thank you ever so much; but don’t let Mrs. Fleming know you want
the address for a girl, or she might be jealous,” smiled Annette,
bestowing a piece of silver on the girl, who thanked her, and skipped
away.

Scarcely was she out of sight ere Annette was confronted by the livid
face of her jealous and violent lover.

“Oh, Ray, darling!” she gasped, in delight; but the young man caught
her arm in a steely grasp that pained her, while he hissed into her
little, pink ear:

“Don’t call me your darling, false, perjured girl, for I have heard all
you were saying, and I know you have another lover who has deserted
you, and whom you love better than me. But you shall never live to
recall him to your side. I will kill you both for deceiving me! Die,
then, perjured little coquette, and I will soon send your lover’s soul
to join you in Hades!”

There was a flash, a report, and Annette sank down to the ground with a
stifled moan, the blood streaming from her breast, while her maddened
slayer fled wildly from the scene.

CHAPTER IX.

SHE MUST KEEP THE SECRET.

No telling how long Annette might have lain undiscovered in the rose
arbor had not Letty Green, as she went up the steps of the great house,
heard the sound of the fatal pistol shot.

Cullen, the manservant, had come out on the steps looking after her,
for he was sweet on the pert little maid, and as she returned he
accosted her with some smiling pleasantry, to which she was about to
give a coquettish answer, when the sudden boom of the pistol shot made
her jump almost half a yard high, while she clapped her hands over her
ears, shrieking:

“Ouch! what was that?”

“Somebody shooting at ye, maybe,” returned the man, whose firmer nerves
made him receive the shock more coolly; and he continued: “Come to my
arms, honey, and let me protect you.”

She repulsed him with a coquettish fling, and they both turned and
looked in the direction of the arbor, from whence the sound had
proceeded.

But the thick shrubberies that dotted the grounds hid from sight the
figure of the jealous lover running madly from the scene of the crime
he had committed in the height of unreasoning passion.

Suddenly Letty Green grew very pale, and clutched at Cullen for actual
support, whispering in awestruck tones:

“Cullen, I’m that nervous I can hardly stand on my feet! I--I--have
such an awful sus-suspicion! Suppose that pretty young girl has shot
herself in the arbor because her lover’s run away?”

“Let us go and see,” he replied, pulling her hand through his arm,
for she was really trembling very much. Thus, arm in arm, he very
loverlike, she pretending to pull away from him, and protesting that
she daren’t look, they proceeded to the arbor, where they found Annette
lying like one dead, outstretched on the ground, with a thin stream of
blood pouring from her breast, staining her light silk gown and creamy
laces with a gory crimson.

“I said so--I told you so! She’s gone and killed herself!” whimpered
Letty, clinging to him for sympathy, the tears welling into her keen
black eyes.

“She’s dead, sure enough, I’m afraid,” returned Cullen, jumping to
conclusions without examination. Then he cast a glance upon the ground,
adding: “But I don’t see the weapon as she done it with.”

They began to search about, but uselessly. It could not be discovered;
and the man said then, pityingly:

“She didn’t do it herself; some one else fired that shot. But who could
have had the heart to hurt that pretty, young girl?”

“Yes--who could?” echoed Letty, with a sob; and she began to stroke
Annette’s little hands, as they lay limply by her sides.

Then she gave a quick start of surprise.

“Why, her dear little hands are warm yet, and, oh, see--see, Cullen!
she ain’t quite dead, for her heart beats a little. Just feel,” and
she moved his hand over the girl’s side. “Run, run,” she added, “for a
doctor--quick! and I’ll stay till you come back!”

Nothing loath, Cullen set off at full speed, and Letty remained
crouching beside the unconscious girl, stroking her hands, her hair,
and the soft folds of her shimmering silk gown with soft, pitying
touches.

But suddenly a covetous look gleamed in her eyes, and her hand slid
furtively along the silken folds till it was lost to sight. Letty had
remembered the little netted purse from which Annette had generously
given her a silver piece.

She withdrew her hand furtively, having captured a purse and a letter.
The letter, she saw, was addressed to Dallas Bain.

Slipping both into her pocket, Letty murmured:

“Poor thing! That’s why she wanted his address so bad, to send him this
letter. Well, I’ll find it out, if I can, and mail it to him. I’ll do
her that good turn, poor, pretty little girl! though I don’t believe
that my mistress would like it if she knew, for I fancy she is sweet on
Mr. Bain herself.”

Cullen had been so fortunate as to find a doctor driving past the gate,
and both now appeared on the scene, much to Letty’s joy, for she was a
tender-hearted girl, despite her faults of cupidity and deceitfulness.

The physician made a hasty examination, and discovered that Annette’s
wound was not serious, after all. The bullet had been diverted from
its course by her stays, and had inflicted a painful but not dangerous
wound. He extracted it very easily just before she groaned and
recovered consciousness, staring in alarm at the strange faces bending
over her as she lay on the ground.

“There, you will do nicely now,” said the kind old doctor, who had
already stanched the flow of blood, and he added: “My coupé is at the
gate, and I will just take you home to your mother before she gets
frightened to death with some awful report that you are murdered.”

The girl’s eyes dilated in anguish, for at that moment everything
returned to her mind, and she remembered that the man she loved more
than life--her handsome, blue-eyed Ray--had aimed a murderous bullet at
her true heart. She almost wished that she had died, so cruel was the
pain of knowing that he was unworthy.

Doctor Bowers saw the gleam of apprehension in her dark eyes, and asked
quickly:

“Miss Annette, do you know who gave you this wound?”

She was silent a moment, then faltered:

“How should I know? It--it--must have been a stray shot, for--for--I
was alone the moment this girl, here, left me, and--then--suddenly
I heard the sharp report of a pistol. The bullet pierced my breast,
and--I fell to the ground, and knew no more.”

Doctor Bowers glanced at Letty Green, who answered:

“It must be true what she says, for I was here talking to her alone,
and it was barely three minutes later that I heard the pistol as I was
coming up the steps, and I thought she had committed suicide; so we ran
here quick as lightning, but we saw and heard no intruder.”

“It must have been a stray shot,” corroborated Cullen, strong in his
conviction that no one could deliberately harm such a pretty young
thing.

The old doctor said no more; but in his heart he did not accept the
theory of the stray shot.

Something in Annette’s eyes, so startled, so grieved, like a wounded
fawn’s, when he questioned her, had half betrayed to him the secret she
was loyally guarding.

“The girl is shielding some one--a jealous lover, maybe--but, after
the manner of these self-immolating women, she will never betray her
secret,” he thought testily, as he and Cullen carried her gently to the
coupé, so that she could be removed to her home.

Poor little Annette, who had started forth so gayly scarce an hour
ago, how different was her home-coming, and what a shock the mother’s
heart received when they brought her pale darling in with the gory
bloodstains defacing her new silk gown!

“Who has done this dreadful thing?” her mother cried; and Doctor Bowers
could only tell her what he had heard:

“It was a stray shot.”

They bore her to her little white bed, and for a week she was very,
very ill, the result of shock as much as from her wound. Fever and
delirium set in, and sometimes she raved of her lover, Ray, beseeching
him to come back to her, but never by the least hint betraying the
secret of his terrible crime.

When she began to convalesce it was the same way. Annette gave no hint
of having seen Ray Dering, even when her mother questioned her, and
told her of his going after her to Sea View.

Her dark eyes assumed a look of plaintive wonder, and she faltered:

“How strange, how very strange, that I did not see Ray! But I suppose
he must have been suddenly called away by a telegram. I shall get a
letter from him soon explaining everything.”

And she pretended to look anxiously each day for the letter, while at
heart she wondered what had become of her jealous lover, and if he had
really gone in pursuit of Dallas Bain, believing him a successful rival.

“What if he should find him and kill him?” she shuddered; and it was no
wonder that she convalesced so slowly, with such a terrible weight upon
her mind.

When Daisie Bell, whose sprain was well now, came to see her, she was
shocked at the piteous change in her pale little friend.

“Oh, how I hate the wretch who nearly killed you, even though it was
a stray shot!” she exclaimed; but the poor girl could not confess to
Daisie Bell that it was through espousing her cause and trying to
straighten out her tangled love affair that she had incurred Ray’s
jealousy, and caused the shipwreck of her own happiness.

No, she could not speak, for she must keep the secret now for the sake
of her cruel lover.

“But not that I love him any more, for I suppose I ought to hate him
now, but I should not wish harm to come to him through me,” thought the
loyal young heart.

She told Daisie of her cruel disappointment in not finding out the
address of Dallas Bain, and said:

“You will find the letter you gave me in the pocket of the gown I wore
that day. It is hanging there in my wardrobe.”

But Daisie found the pocket empty.

“It is very strange,” cried Annette. “I am sure the letter was in my
pocket with my little netted purse.”

“Never mind, dear, the letter does not matter now,” Daisie returned
sadly, for it seemed to her that Dallas was lost to her forever.

She was wretched, too, for, although she had confessed everything to
Royall Sherwood, he would not release her from her promise to marry
him.

CHAPTER X.

DAISIE’S DESPAIR.

Royall Sherwood’s surprise and chagrin were beyond expression when he
returned to Gull Beach and learned all that had happened in the two
days of his absence.

For Daisie, in her desperation, did not spare herself. She had
confessed everything, and taken back her promise.

“I never loved you, and it was flattered vanity alone that made me
accept you. Forgive me, and release me,” she pleaded, shrinking back
from the flash of the beautiful ring he was trying to place on her
finger.

In that moment he realized fully with what a passion he loved her, and
what a pang it would cost to give up the one he adored with all the
fervor of his heart.

“Daisie Bell, I will not release you!” he vowed, clinging to the little
hand that she strove to withdraw. “You gave me your promise of your own
free will, and you shall not break it now.”

He saw her turn pale and tremble with alarm, and he continued wildly:

“You shall not make me ridiculous, and cause the finger of scorn to be
pointed at me as a jilted man.”

“Oh, but I told you not to let the engagement be known,” she
remonstrated.

“I only told my Cousin Lutie--and I forgot she could not keep a
secret--so the whole town knows it now, and if you break your promise,
you will be known as an arrant little flirt.”

“I can’t help it. I didn’t mean to flirt, so let them say what they
please. I am going away soon, so it cannot hurt me,” she returned, in
helpless defiance, the color rushing back into her face, and her eyes
growing dark with emotion.

Every swift change in her wonderful beauty only wound his heartstrings
more tightly about her; he vowed to himself that any man would be a
fool to give her up after her promise had been once gained.

So he persevered. He urged and entreated, played the devoted lover to
perfection.

“But I have told you that I love another!” she cried, with the lovely
blushes rising up to her brow.

“He is gone, and you will never see him again. Let that brief dream
be forgotten, and give your heart to me,” urged Royall, in painful
earnestness that touched her heart.

“Oh, I can never love you, and I feel I have wronged you enough already
by my silly vacillation. Leave me now, for indeed all is at an end
between us.”

“You are very cruel to me, Daisie,” he sighed.

“I know I am. I have been wicked and thoughtless to let you love me.
I repent it now; but all I can do is to send you from me, and let you
forget. That is the greatest kindness I can show you.”

He saw that there was no use pressing her now. She would only turn
stubborn, and command him to go. And he did not wish to anger her, for
since his rival had withdrawn from the field, he was determined not to
give up hope.

Sighing heavily, he said:

“This is a cruel blow to me, the crueler from being so totally
unexpected. I must accept my fate, but I feel that it was undeserved.”

Her generous heart was touched by his apparent humility. She felt a
twinge of remorse for her apparent fickleness, and cried eagerly:

“Oh, I am so sorry I wounded you! Believe me, I am grateful for your
love, though I cannot accept it. But--but--I will always be your
friend.”

“That is better than nothing,” Royall answered, with a mirthless laugh;
and, rising to go, he added pleadingly: “Then this does not mean utter
dismissal? Though I am unwelcome as a lover, I may come and see you
sometimes--as a friend?”

She feared instantly that she had made a mistake, but in the
consciousness of his suffering, she could not bear to refuse. She
remembered, also, that she would soon be going away, and that would end
it all. So she said falteringly:

“Yes, as a friend--but--but--I should think you would be too angry to
care to see me again.”

“Angry with you, Daisie, when I have loved you so dearly? How could
such a thing be?” he exclaimed, with a thrilling glance, as he bowed
himself out, taking with him the rejected ring, but vowing to himself
that she should wear it yet if patient persistence counted for anything.

“When she finds that Bain has gone, never to return, she will be ready
to take me back again,” he thought, confident of the ultimate triumph
of his golden charms if not of his personal attractions.

As for Daisie, she wept wildly when he was gone, yielding to the cruel
strain on her emotions. She felt herself the most unhappy girl in the
world. Dallas was gone from her in anger, and she had no hope of ever
seeing him again.

Yet Daisie knew in her heart that this was the love of her life, and
that she never could forget her handsome, dark-eyed lover. The joy and
the sorrow of this brief love dream would stay with her forever.

One bitter drop in the cup of Daisie’s sorrow was the anger of her Aunt
Alice at her broken engagement.

The old lady had been so proud of her niece’s rich catch that she could
hardly believe it when Daisie confessed to her the truth of the broken
engagement.

She became violently angry, but neither scolding nor reproaches could
“bring that silly girl to her senses,” as she termed it, then she
relapsed into sullen silence. There was neither pity nor sympathy in
that house for poor Daisie.

Worst of all, Royall Sherwood kept coming every day to call, and he let
her see quite plainly that he did not despair of winning her yet.

“You will forget Dallas Bain, now that you see him no more,” he said
confidently. “In fact, I am not sure that he was worthy of your regard.
There was something very mysterious about the fellow, and I have no
idea what has become of him.”

Daisie had no answer to give; but she knew that the memory of Dallas
Bain would never leave her mind.

When she was alone the music of his voice seemed to echo in her ears,
the flash of his dark eyes to light up the darkness, and always,
always, she could feel the touch of his hand and the thrill of his lips
as they met her own--no, such love as hers could never die. Though she
never spoke his name aloud, she would tremble and thrill when it was
uttered by another.

After Annette’s accident and the cruel failure of Daisie’s letter
to reach Dallas, there seemed nothing left to hope for now. Daisie
determined to leave Gull Beach and return to the city.

When Royall Sherwood came to call the next evening she bid him
farewell, saying that she was going to New York the next day.

He cried out reproachfully:

“You will return to a life of toil and hardship rather than accept my
name and wealth?”

“Do not bring that subject up again,” she answered wearily; and he went
away in despair, to seek his cousin’s advice.

“She is going away, she will be lost to me in the vortex of the wide
world! Oh, Lutie, put your wits to work, you women are so shrewd! Is
there no way to detain her longer at Gull Beach till she softens toward
me?”

“I will think it over, and tell you in the morning,” she replied.

CHAPTER XI.

SHE COULD NEVER FORGET.

Daisie was very busy the next morning packing her trunk, when Aunt
Alice came upstairs, bringing Mrs. Fleming’s card.

“It’s that pretty little lady from Sea View, Mr. Sherwood’s cousin.
You must drop everything and go down,” she said, with an authority
that admitted no dispute; so Daisie pushed the tumbled lovelocks from
her brow with a weary hand, and went down most reluctantly to meet her
guest, who had scolded her so vigorously at their last meeting.

“Oh, I’m not very welcome, I know,” laughed the little widow gayly.
“I behaved badly to you the last time I was here, and, of course, you
haven’t forgiven me. But I had some excuse, you will admit; for Royall
was my cousin, and you jilted him shamefully, didn’t you, now, Daisie
Bell? But don’t be angry, dear; for I came this morning to beg your
pardon for the scolding I gave you.”

Daisie had sunk into a chair near the open window, where the sunlight
filtered through the wistaria leaves and flecked her wavy hair, all
loose over her shoulders, with gleams of gold.

Mrs. Fleming thought, enviously, that she had never seen any one half
so pretty as the girl in her white Empire morning gown. No wonder
men raved over her charms, she was so beautiful, and so seemingly
unconscious of it all.

“It was very silly in me, I dare say,” continued Mrs. Fleming lightly.
“I am quite repentant now. Will you forgive me?”

Daisie was at a loss for words; she could only listen in silence.

“You must forgive me, Daisie; for I have come to ask you a favor. Will
you help us up at Sea View in a little entertainment we are going to
have to-night--some tableaus and charades?”

Daisie opened her lips to refuse, to say that she was going away; but
the widow rattled on:

“I have just come from seeing poor little Annette, who helped us the
last time, and would now, only she is not well enough yet. And she said
she was sure you would be willing to take her place, you were always so
obliging. Will you?”

“Oh, I cannot, Mrs. Fleming, thank you. I am just packing my trunk to
return to New York this evening.”

“But you can put it off till to-morrow just as well, can you not? Oh,
please do, just to oblige me! We have already secured all the available
talent about here, but we lack one girl, and had expected Annette to
fill that place; so everything is spoiled unless you will oblige us.”

Mrs. Fleming was lying glibly. She had reserved that rôle--a very
conspicuous one--for herself; but to further Royall’s plans, she had
decided to give it to Daisie.

Aunt Alice here put in frankly:

“Daisie can oblige you just as well as not, if she chooses. She doesn’t
have to go home till the first of September, and this is only the
twenty-fourth of August. The truth is, she was going off in a huff with
me because I scolded her for breaking off with your cousin; so I think
she ought to stay and help you to-night.”

Mrs. Fleming quickly discovered that she had a powerful ally in the old
lady; so between them they harassed and worried her into consenting to
the plan of Mrs. Fleming, little thinking, poor girl, that she was
being cunningly enmeshed in a spider’s web.

The widow was exuberant in her thanks, and begged Daisie to come home
with her at once in the carriage.

“Because we have a rehearsal directly after luncheon,” she said; “and,
my dear, you must take your prettiest things with you, for, really, I
shall keep you with me several days at Sea View.”

In vain were Daisie’s protests, since her delighted aunt joined Mrs.
Fleming in a chorus of dissent.

So the unhappy girl, blown hither and thither on the winds of destiny,
went upstairs and packed up what they directed; and the triumphant
little schemer carried her off in triumph, rejoicing inwardly at her
success.

She was, in fact, very anxious to marry the girl off to Royall, so as
to rid herself of a rival should Dallas Bain ever reappear.

It was true that a cloud of mystery hung over the young man, and that
in his abrupt and hurried leave-taking he had given no hint of his
future whereabouts, merely expressing a vague hope that they might some
time meet again; but Lutie Fleming knew that, despite the width of the
world, the most unexpected rencounters are always happening, and she by
no means despaired of meeting Dallas Bain again.

“Let me but get Daisie Bell married off safely to Royall, then I will
find Dallas again, and wind my toils around him,” she mused, as she
rode by Daisie’s side, weaving in her busy mind the details of a plot
that would have made her spring from the carriage in dismay had she
even guessed at her companion’s thought.

But the wondrous X-ray that is to lay bare the secrets of the mind to
startled gazers not being discovered yet, Daisie rode on in peace,
getting somewhat reconciled now to the prospect of the visit, having,
like all healthy young girls, a keen appetite for social pleasures.

She knew that she should not forget for a moment her dream of love and
its woeful ending, but she thought that participation in the evening’s
amusement might dull the keen edge of her pain. Her pride was aroused,
too, and she was determined that Mrs. Fleming should not see that she
was pining over Dallas Bain’s desertion.

Daisie did not mean for any one to guess that her poor heart was
broken, so she did her part with the rest, laughing and singing like
the happiest girl in the world, though all the while her poor heart was
calling tenderly:

“Oh, Dallas, my love, come back, come back!”

CHAPTER XII.

AN UNBIDDEN GUEST.

Did the strange, mysterious influences ever about and around us, though
beyond our ken, bear to Dallas Bain the yearning heart cry of his
deserted love? Did they bring him back to her side that night?

Far away, ’mid the busy haunts of the world of men, he had sought
forgetfulness, and found it not.

He was a haunted man--haunted by a face, a voice, a wealth of golden
hair, a soul--for was not Daisie’s soul always following and seeking
his in the mystery that held him from her side? So at last, by the
force of her yearning, she drew him back.

He was proud and angry, but insensibly his heart began to soften, he
began to invent excuses, to believe that he had been too hasty, had
judged her too harshly.

“I did not let her explain. I left too quickly. If I had waited, she
might have justified herself,” he thought.

He began to doubt the cunning lies Mrs. Fleming had poured into his
ears at their last interview.

“What if her story were false? Perhaps she was trying to turn my heart
against the girl, because she wanted to win me herself.”

The more he thought of it, the more he began to soften toward the girl
whose beautiful image filled his great, passionate heart.

And because she haunted him so, because he began to realize all the
strength of his love, and the pain of their separation, he suddenly
determined to return to Gull Beach.

“I will go and hear her story. Perhaps she can justify herself,” he
said to his beating heart, as he opened the cottage gate.

All was still and quiet, but a light shone through the parlor blinds,
and he hoped that she was there thinking of him in sadness and tears
that would change to love and joy when she saw him enter the room.

His heart was beating almost to suffocation as he rang the bell at the
door.

There was a little delay, then it swung open, and in the glow of
the hall lamp he saw a rather grim old lady in a widow’s cap and
gown--Daisie’s Aunt Alice.

She recognized him at once--the disturbing cause in the broken
engagement--and stiffened herself implacably.

“Good evening, Mrs. Bell. I see you know me. Is Miss Daisie at home?”
he inquired eagerly.

“No; she has gone away,” curtly.

“May I ask where?” humbly.

“Certainly. She is up at Sea View, staying with her friend Mrs.
Fleming, cousin to the gentleman she is engaged to marry.”

She saw Dallas give a great start of surprise and dismay, then he cried
huskily:

“Is--she--engaged to him still?”

The old lady, seeing her opportunity to head him off, and pitiless to
Daisie in her desire for the grand match, answered stolidly:

“Certainly she’s engaged to him still. What made you think the match
could be broken off when they just dote on each other? Daisie’s been a
bit of a flirt, I know, but she’s in dead earnest this time.”

“Good evening!” Dallas answered abruptly, turning from her, and
stumbling down the steps, like a drunken man, so hardly had he been
stricken by the remorseless blow of the woman, who banged the door shut
after him, chuckling maliciously:

“Guess I paid him out for his meddling with that match I was so set on.
’Twasn’t a story I told, either, for Mr. Sherwood told me he didn’t
consider the engagement broken at all, and hoped soon to persuade
Daisie to wear his ring. Now I’ve sent that fellow off about his
business, I hope, so he won’t interfere any more.”

But Dallas, dazed with pain and woe, was making straight for Sea View.

All hope was dead in his breast now, for the mere fact of Daisie’s
presence at Sea View, as the guest of Royall Sherwood’s cousin, seemed
to prove the truth of Mrs. Bell’s assertion.

But a dumb longing in his breast made him yearn for a single look at
her face again to ease the ache at his heart ere he turned away forever
to carry his pain into the heedless throngs of the busy world.

“She is only a wretched little flirt, after all, yet she has wrecked
my peace of mind, and I cannot thrust her from my memory,” he groaned,
as he went on to Sea View, meaning to see Daisie, himself unseen, and
then depart forever.

As he went into the grounds he saw that the place was brilliantly
lighted up, and heard the swell of music blending with the murmur of
the sea as the tide rolled in to the shore.

“Madam must be holding one of her gay receptions. I wonder what she
would say if she knew I was so near?” he muttered, as he dragged
himself up the steps and hid on a balcony, where he could peer, unseen,
into the room.

He saw the brilliant drawing-room gleaming with lights, adorned with
flowers, and crowded with guests sitting about as if waiting for
something. What?

And was not that a wedding march that rose on the air from the screen
of plants yonder where the band was hidden?

His wandering eyes suddenly discovered a white dais erected at one end
of the room, over which swung from broad white ribbons a magnificent
floral wedding bell.

A bridal party entered the room and advanced toward the dais, on which
suddenly appeared a tall, pale young man in clerical garments, with an
open book in his hand.

Louder and louder rose the strains of the joyous wedding march while
Dallas looked on with dazed eyes and a numb pain at his heart,
wondering what would happen next.

He was not left long in doubt.

He saw Mrs. Fleming and Daisie Bell advancing to meet Royall Sherwood
and his best man at the altar.

Something--a grinning demon--seemed to clutch at the gazer’s heart and
stop its beating, for Daisie was the bride--a wedding veil hid the
dazzling sheen of her golden hair.

CHAPTER XIII.

“HER OWN AGAIN.”

Dallas Bain watched with straining gaze that scene within Mrs.
Fleming’s brilliant drawing-room, and his heart was wrung with a pain
more bitter than death.

The vague belief and hope that had brought him back to Gull Beach were
dashed to earth now, and despair reigned in its stead.

She had not loved him, after all; she had but played on his credulity
to gratify a coquette’s vanity. The proof was here before him as she
stood there all in bridal white, speaking the solemn words that bound
her for aye to another.

“Fool that I was to return,” he muttered, in fierce self-scorn; and
just then he caught a flutter of drapery near him, and a shrill voice
giggled:

“La, me! if this ain’t Mr. Bain come back again! Howdydo, sir? Looking
at the play, are you? But it does seem awful real like, don’t it? They
got their parts well, certain! He’s even putting the ring on her hand,
and now the women are kissing the bride. Ha! ha!”

Dallas grasped Letty Green’s arms so convulsively that she winced with
the pain.

“Ouch! don’t pinch so! What have I done?”

He muttered fiercely, like one beside himself.

“What does this mean? Is it a play, as you said, or a horrible reality?”

Letty giggled, shook her flounces, and twittered:

“Oh, it’s a play, sir, of course, and they’ve been practicing on it for
a week. Though, for certain, them two principals are engaged; but I
don’t think the wedding day is set. ’Tis whispered they have quarreled,
and Miss Bell won’t wear his ring; but my mistress says ’tisn’t true
at all. But, la, sir, what are you doing out here peeking through the
window like us servants? Why don’t you go into the drawing-room along
with the quality?”

“I don’t care to go in yet, Letty. I just came unexpectedly, and I want
to look on for a while unseen,” returned Dallas, with a long sigh of
relief as he glued his face to the window and watched the scene within,
singling out the beautiful form of Daisie with renewed hope and love.

He murmured exultantly:

“So they have quarreled? About me, of course. She is true, after all,
my own sweet love! Ah! what a weight of woe is lifted from my breast!
Oh, I must manage to see her presently, and beg her to forgive me for
my rash flight, jealous fool that I was! As for Royall, I am not sorry
for him, since he acted in a mean, underhand way to gain her love.
Well, he had his day, and failed; now comes mine.”

Meanwhile, Letty was watching him with some compunction, owing to a
guilty conscience.

Her first womanly pity for Annette had prompted her to mail to Dallas
the letter she had stolen from the young girl’s pocket, but on trying
to get the address from Mrs. Fleming, the latter’s suspicions had been
aroused, and she had persecuted Letty till she found out everything.
This done, she exchanged a gold piece with the covetous maid for poor
Daisie’s love letter.

“However,” thought Letty, “there’s no harm done, for I can tell him all
about his pretty sweetheart, and maybe his cruel heart will turn back
to her again.”

So, getting close to his ear, Letty poured out in moving terms the
story of Annette’s accident, though she did not tell him the fate of
the letter.

When she had ended, he sighed, and answered:

“Poor girl! I’m sorry for her; but there’s some mistake, surely, Letty,
for little Annette was never my sweetheart--never! I never loved any
girl in my life but Daisie Bell, and I want you to slip in there and
get her to come out here and see me. Won’t you?”

Two big silver dollars pressed into her hand clinched the argument, and
Letty tripped blithely away on her errand, leaving Dallas waiting with
wild impatience for the coming of his little love.

And presently she came with a look of wonder on her fair face, for the
maid had simply whispered to her that some one wanted to see her on the
balcony, and she must just slip out without any fuss.

Daisie thought it might be a messenger from Aunt Alice about something,
so she stole away, pretending she wished to lay aside the bridal veil.

In the hall she gave it to Letty to carry upstairs, and then glided out
to the balcony, all unconscious of the joy that awaited her there.

When Dallas heard her coming he stepped back from the window into the
screen of a climbing vine, where there was a seat for two, and waited.

She came close to him, and the moonlight shone on her fair face and
white gown and waves of golden hair. Oh, how beautiful she was in
evening dress, with her neck uncovered, and her perfect arms, so white
and rounded, bare to the shoulders!

She saw the dark form sitting in the shadow so silently, and as the hem
of her white gown brushed against his knee, she faltered:

“Who wants me?”

Dallas half rose, holding out impassioned arms, whispering:

“I want you, Daisie, darling! I want you to forgive my folly and
madness! I want you to be my little love still, as you promised that
day before I left you! I want----”

But then his arms closed around her yielding form, and his last words
were smothered in the kiss he pressed on the top of her shining head.

Ah! what joy for little Daisie, what sudden rapture!

Dallas Bain drew her down to the seat beside him, and in the shadow of
the rose vines he kissed her lips, and she kissed him back again, dear
little Daisie, forgiving everything in a moment, forgetting all the
past, thinking of nothing else on earth but that he was her own again.

CHAPTER XIV.

“LOVE IS HEAVEN.”

Inside the drawing-room, now that the last act of the entertainment
was over, all was joyous confusion, people flitting about in merry
converse, while over all rose low strains of music, now sad, now
joyous, each finding an echo in some tender heart.

But Daisie Bell was too beautiful not to be missed, even in that
brilliant throng, even had not Royall Sherwood impatiently questioned
his cousin as to her absence.

“She has gone upstairs to remove the wedding veil that she was so
reluctant to don, and will return presently,” answered Mrs. Fleming;
but though Royall loitered near the stairway for half an hour, she did
not come.

Half an hour of the keenest impatience and longing for him, of the most
exquisite joy for Dallas and Daisie.

Between the two lovers there had been full explanations of everything,
and renewed trust and confidence.

As they lingered there in the moonlight beneath the fragrant rose vine,
with the voice of the sea blending in their ears with the lilt of merry
music, their hands entwined, their hearts in unison, there came to them
a foretaste of heaven, if ’tis true, as poets tell us, that----

Love is heaven, and heaven is love.

“And you will give up your fine, rich lover for me, my Daisie--for me,
with love in a cottage?” cried Dallas fondly.

“Can you doubt it?” she whispered back, blushing beneath the kiss with
which he rewarded her devotion.

“You will be my own sweet bride! Oh, what joy--what bliss! How--how
have I deserved such a boon from Heaven!” he cried, remembering his
agony just now, when he believed she was giving herself away to his
rival. “Oh, Daisie,” he continued, “you shall never repent your sweet
trust in me! I will make your life a dream of love and happiness. You
say Royall Sherwood told you that my life was clouded with mystery, and
that all mystery hid dishonor. Well, all shall be explained to you,
and you shall know better, my precious love!”

But at that moment they heard a light, grating laugh, and saw before
them Mrs. Fleming leaning on Royall Sherwood’s arm.

Royall had grown so impatient of Daisie’s long absence that he had
insisted on having Mrs. Fleming find out the cause.

So the unsuspecting lady called Letty Green, who was flirting with
Cullen at the end of the hall, and demanded to know what Miss Bell was
doing upstairs so long.

Letty tossed her pert brown head, and replied that Miss Bell hadn’t
gone upstairs at all.

“Didn’t she go with you to remove her veil, girl?” cried Royall
impatiently.

“No, sir; she sent me upstairs to take it, and went to meet her beau,”
returned the saucy maid.

“What do you mean, Letty? Explain yourself, without any more trifling!”
exclaimed her mistress, in a tone of sudden, sharp anxiety.

Perhaps Letty had a grudge against her mistress, and knew that she
could pay it off now, for she proceeded to recount, with sly enjoyment,
her _rencontre_ with Dallas Bain.

“He actually thought at first that ’twas a real marriage, and I almost
feared the man would drop dead at my feet, he was so upset,” she cried.
“But when I explained all to him--oh, what a change! His eyes just
flashed with joy, and he crammed my hands full of money, saying: ‘I
never loved any girl in my life but Daisie Bell, and I want you to slip
in there and get her to come out here and see me, won’t you?’”

Letty thought her mistress would drop down dead, too, she clung so
tightly to Royall Sherwood, and turned so deathly white, while she
muttered, in impotent wrath:

“How dared you do it?”

Royall Sherwood went quite white, too, but he uttered no word; and
Letty, with an air of innocence, tossed her head, twittering:

“La, ma’am, did I do anything wrong? If so, I’m sure I beg pardon.”

“You should have come to me first,” muttered Mrs. Fleming angrily; and
the girl answered, with mock humility:

“I didn’t know it, I’m sure. I didn’t know you had a claim on him.”

“Silence, girl!” cried Royall, interpreting her mood; and he drew Mrs.
Fleming aside into a deserted anteroom to discuss the situation.

“Get me some wine, Royall; this is a terrible shock to my nerves!” she
panted.

She drank, and the ruby liquid coursed through her veins like fire,
inspiring her with new courage.

A low, hateful laugh trilled over her lips as she cried:

“How very, very fortunate that he did not come ten minutes earlier!”

“How very fortunate!” echoed Royall; but his blond face was ashy pale,
and dismay lurked in his eyes.

She held the half-drained glass to his lips, saying wildly:

“Drink! it will give you courage. We must go and face them with the
truth!”

“No; I must keep a clear head,” he answered, in a shaking voice,
pushing her hand aside, and adding: “This is a terrible complication
that one shrinks from meeting.”

“Courage!” she answered gayly, slipping her hand through his arm, and
leading him, half unwillingly, down the hall toward the door that
opened on the balcony.

“I--I--hadn’t you better break it to her first alone? I dread a scene,”
he muttered tremblingly.

“Pshaw! don’t be a coward, Royall. You know your rôle. Just stick to it
like a man, and all will be well. Her fate is sealed, and their anger
cannot change it, however they rage. Come;” and, drawing him with her,
the crafty schemer confronted the happy lovers on the moonlit balcony.

Her low, grating laugh startled them from a happy dream, and they
sprang apart in confusion as she cried:

“Daisie, we have been searching for you everywhere! And here you are
hiding from us like this, forgetting that your flirting days are over
now! Why--Mr. Bain!” this in tones of profound surprise.

Dallas, quickly recovering himself, bowed profoundly, and responded:

“Yes, Mrs. Fleming, I am back again--just now returned--and meant to go
in presently to greet you. Good evening, Mr. Sherwood. We are well met,
all of us, for I wish to ask your congratulations on my engagement to
Miss Bell.”

He saw quite plainly, despite their seeming nonchalance, that the
announcement would not wait, hence his haste.

Royall Sherwood gave a start of dramatic surprise; his cousin groaned:

“Good heavens!”

Daisie, shrinking into the shadow of the vines, waited for her lover to
explain the situation.

He resumed sarcastically:

“You seem surprised, Mrs. Fleming, and yet you should not be. You knew
quite well that I was Miss Bell’s lover, though I was foolish enough
to be frightened off that day when you came to her house and found us
together. Well, I repented my haste, returned to-night, and sought an
explanation. All is satisfactory, and we will soon be married.”

“’Sh-h!” almost hissed Royall Sherwood, while Mrs. Fleming added:

“This is terrible--terrible!”

“Why is it terrible, madam?” demanded Daisie, with sudden fire; and as
the little widow looked at the handsome, spirited couple before her,
she longed to strike them dead at her feet because of their love for
each other.

But at least she had an awful dart for their hearts--an arrow tipped
with deadly poison--so, throwing a baleful glance at both, she answered
venomously:

“It is terrible, Daisie Bell, because, through my fault, a great
mistake has been made. The marriage to-night was not sham, but real,
and you are legally the wife of my Cousin Royall!”

CHAPTER XV.

“THE FAULT WAS MINE!”

A bolt from heaven could not have stricken Daisie Bell more suddenly
from her feet than the words Mrs. Fleming had spoken in such venomous
triumph.

The poor victim tottered, moaned, and fell; but Dallas caught her
in his arms ere she touched the floor, lifting her up tenderly and
pressing her close to his breast.

“Daisie, my darling, speak to me!” he cried, in wild alarm, for her
head fell heavily like a broken flower.

Mrs. Fleming cried angrily:

“Give her to her husband! It is his right to hold her now! Why do you
not take her, Royall?”

“Hush, Lutie! I do not understand what you mean. Explain yourself,”
Royall replied, with stern brevity, though, if angry, jealous looks
could have killed, Dallas might have dropped dead then and there.

But Mrs. Fleming, with a start and shudder, exclaimed:

“Ah! true, true, you do not know what I have done, Royall; you do not
guess that Daisie Bell is really your wife. I must confess the deceit I
have practiced on you both. But wait--wait till Daisie revives; for she
must hear it all, too.”

And even at that moment Daisie trembled in the clasp of her lover, and
opened her dazed, blue eyes.

“I--oh, what is that matter?” she began; and, gently soothing her,
Dallas placed her in her seat, and stood by her side, offering the
other seat to Mrs. Fleming.

She took it, for the story she had to tell was enough to make her too
nervous to stand.

Royall stood at the back of her chair, and Dallas by Daisie’s side, in
a protecting attitude, but pale as death with dread of what was coming.

He said gently to his trembling little love:

“Do you feel better? For Mrs. Fleming has a confession to make, if you
are strong enough to bear it.”

“I am better; let her go on,” Daisie faltered, with pallid lips.

Mrs. Fleming, strengthened by the wine she had taken, answered, with
glib readiness:

“Let no one blame Royall Sherwood for what has been done. The plot was
mine, and I did not know I was making a grave mistake. Of course, I
knew that Daisie and Royall had broken their engagement, but I thought
it was made up again, as he was going to see her the same every day. So
when I knew that Daisie would help us with the entertainment to-night,
and take the bride’s part in the mock wedding, I thought what a joke it
would be--and not an unwelcome one, either--to marry them really. So I
impulsively, without due thought, employed a real minister to read the
ceremony, and--now they are tied fast, man and wife, as tight as law
can bind them to each other.”

There was a moment’s blank pause; then Royall Sherwood bent the knee
humbly before silent, stricken Daisie, crying out in pleading accents:

“She speaks truly; the plot was hers, unknown to me; but, Daisie, she
read my heart aright, if not yours; for never had bride such a cordial
welcome to a husband’s heart, and never would a loyal husband strive
more patiently to win a wife’s love, if you will give yourself to me in
truth, as you are mine already by to-night’s vow.”

But she shrank from his extended arms, with a cry of woe that made
Dallas Bain soothe her with warning words:

“Do not let him frighten you, Daisie; for who knows but that he was
in the plot which he disclaims so glibly? If you do not want him as a
husband, do not take him; for the law will free you from this fraud
that has been perpetrated on you. Your friends will join with me in
taking your part.”

“‘Whom God hath joined together, let not man put asunder,’” quoted the
widow flippantly.

“Do not bring that sacred name into such a farce!” rebuked Dallas
sternly.

At that moment Daisie sprang to the window and gazed with straining
eyes into the thronged drawing-room.

The next moment she stepped over the low sill, and disappeared.

They followed her--the anxious three--and presently they saw her force
her way through a pleasant group surrounding the clerical-looking young
man who had performed the marriage ceremony.

She rushed up to him, and, clutching his sleeve with her little hand,
cold and white as a snowflake, she cried shrilly, not caring if the
whole world heard:

“Is it true that you are a real minister? That that marriage was real,
and not a sham, as I thought?”

He turned on her with dignified eyes of surprise and disapproval,
saying stiffly:

“Certainly, I am a real minister, and the marriage was real. What else?”

“But it was meant for a sham. I never would have given my consent to
the reality,” she cried, in breathless dismay.

He turned startled eyes on her excited face, and exclaimed:

“But Mrs. Fleming employed me. Surely she knew!”

“Yes, it was my fault. I knew Royall and Daisie were engaged, and
thought it would be great fun to marry them offhand, believing they
would be pleased to have it so. But Daisie’s dignity is offended, I’m
sorry to see. Royall, I know you can soon bring her around to forgive
me!” chirped the widow, suddenly making herself mistress of the
situation.

But Daisie’s eyes blazed with anger as she turned and placed her hand
on the arm of Dallas Bain.

“Mr. Bain, will you please take me home to Aunt Alice?” she exclaimed;
then bitterly: “I will never forgive you, Mrs. Fleming, for this
outrage, and to-morrow I will call in the law to free me from your
cousin’s fetters.”

With those words, she swept from the room with Dallas, and no one was
bold enough to try to arrest her exit.

CHAPTER XVI.

FAITHFUL.

Mrs. Fleming, pale with secret wrath and chagrin, sent a venomous look
after the retreating forms of Dallas and Daisie, then set herself the
task of making everything right with her guests.

“It was all my fault. I am too fond of a joke,” she said plaintively.
“But, as they were already engaged, I thought they would be rather
pleased than otherwise. But Daisie chose to be offish about it, and I’m
sorry now that I did it, of course.”

“Oh, I shall persuade her to forgive you to-morrow,” Royall said, with
pretended carelessness; adding: “Good friends, do not let this awkward
little _contretemps_ spoil your pleasure.”

No one hinted, no one guessed, that the bride’s heart belonged to
another man. No one took the affair _au serieux_, thinking it would all
come right to-morrow when Daisie had had her little pouting spell.

So the gayeties of the evening went on, and Dallas and Daisie, both so
sorely stricken down from joy to woe, wended their way to her little
cottage home, sad at heart and indignant over the cheat that had been
practiced on her confidence, yet both believing that the unwelcome
fetters might soon be broken.

Both felt quite certain that Royall Sherwood had been in the plot
to deceive her, and Daisie’s pity for him had changed to hate and
indignation.

“I would die now before I would become his wife in reality!” she vowed,
in passionate resentment; and Dallas pressed her little hand tenderly,
feeling that the joy of his life would be blotted out were he to lose
his darling.

But he did not mean to lose her--not he; and he resolved to visit a
noted lawyer to-morrow, and place the case in his hands, so that Daisie
might be freed as soon as possible.

“Then, darling one, our wedding shall follow soon, and in our happiness
we will soon forget this brief shadow,” he said fondly, as he stood on
the steps looking up at her just as he had seen her first beneath the
drooping wistarias--the picture that stayed in his heart till he died.

Suddenly Aunt Alice came to the door in her surliest mood.

“What has brought you home to-night, Daisie? I thought you meant to
stay several days?” she exclaimed, glowering at the girl’s companion.

“I will tell you all presently, Aunt Alice,” the girl said, over her
shoulder, then gave him her hand.

“Good night, Dallas. I shall expect you to-morrow,” she said; and,
in spite of the old woman’s angry looks, he kissed the little hand,
and his dark eyes beamed on her in the moonlight with the love that
thrilled his heart.

She stood and watched him out of sight--her handsome lover--then went
into the house with her aunt, and poured out the story of all that had
happened at Sea View.

The old woman was simply overjoyed, and did not hesitate to say so.

“So you are Mrs. Royall Sherwood--a rich man’s bride! I congratulate
you, Daisie!” she exclaimed eagerly.

“But I tell you I hate him, aunt, and I will get the law to free me!”

“You will not be so foolish, Daisie Bell. You, a poor school-teacher,
an orphan girl forced to earn her living in that wretched city where
the lives of so many young girls are worn out in the struggle for
bread! Oh, Daisie, do not be so foolish as to throw away this splendid
chance! And you so beautiful, my dear--so fitted to take your place in
the finest society!”

“Auntie, you forget that I have another lover--handsomer, nobler than
Royall Sherwood. As soon as I am free I shall marry him.”

“Never, never, with my consent! I have heard all about him from Mr.
Sherwood, and he is no match for you. No one knows aught about him. He
is poor, of course, and some dreadful disgrace may possibly be attached
to him. You must give him up now, and my advice to you is to make up
your quarrel with Royall, and be thankful to get him.”

“Ah, how cruel it is to have not a friend on earth! To get such advice
from you, who ought to fill the place of my poor, dead mother!” sobbed
Daisie, heartbrokenly; but the old woman, who could be very hard and
coarse when she chose, retorted sharply:

“Your poor mother would be alive now if she hadn’t married a poor man,
and broken her heart because her parents disinherited her and refused
ever to see her again. She was as pretty as you, and had her pick of
lovers; but she fell in love with that poor artist, Vivian Bell, my
husband’s brother. And what came of it? You know their struggles, for
they died one after another only two years ago in New York, and left
you, their only child, to fight the battle of life alone. So how you
can throw away this splendid chance fairly beats my time.”

“But I am used to poverty, Aunt Alice, so it does not daunt me. And
I am sorry you have arrayed yourself in the ranks of my persecutors,
for it makes me feel so friendless. True, you are not really my
aunt; but, as Uncle John’s wife, I have loved you just the same, and
now”--sobbingly--“you have turned against me, and I must go away alone
and unpitied, unless by my true little friend Annette.”

She dragged herself wearily upstairs, and, throwing off, with a shudder
of disgust, her white gown, donned a loose robe, and sat down beside
the window to keep a vigil that was sad and strange for a new-made
bride.

How long she sat there she never knew, so confused were her thoughts;
but it could not have been more than an hour, when she heard carriage
wheels grating on the stillness of the street, then pausing before the
house, and a man sprang out and came into the porch, ringing a furious
peal on the doorbell.

Daisie put her head out of the window, exclaiming nervously:

“What is wanted?”

At the same moment she recognized the young minister, and heard him say:

“Your husband is dying--they have sent for you to come!”

CHAPTER XVII.

HIS CRUEL RIVAL.

A cry of angry incredulity came from Daisie’s lips.

“It is not true. This is some new plot against me. I will not go!”

But just then Mrs. Bell jerked open the front door, and held an anxious
colloquy with the young man.

As a result of it, she came upstairs presently, exclaiming:

“It is all true, Daisie. That young man is a preacher, so, of course,
he wouldn’t tell you a lie! Royall Sherwood was shot to-night--shot in
the back as he was walking along with his cousin--and they think he is
dying. He begs for you, and, my dear, you can’t refuse to go.”

No, she could not refuse. The wishes of the dying are sacred.

But her lips trembled so with the shock that she could hardly stand
upright. Aunt Alice helped her to put on a warm, dark gown suited to
the chilly midnight hour, and supported her feeble steps down the
stairs.

“You will come with me?” she said, in a dazed way, and the old woman
assented readily.

The young minister helped them into the carriage, entered himself, and
the door was closed. The driver whipped up his horses, and then Mrs.
Bell asked, in a tone of awe:

“Who was the wretch that did it?”

“I do not suppose any one knows. It was all very sudden. Mrs. Fleming
and her cousin were walking in the grounds, discussing his marriage,
when the shot was fired from behind by some one who must have been
concealed in the shrubberies. Instantly all was confusion, as there
were other parties also out in the moonlight. A crowd gathered
instantly. It was found that Mr. Sherwood was shot through the body.
A physician was by, fortunately, and, on a hasty examination, he
pronounced the wound mortal. He was removed to his room, and, on
recovering consciousness, asked for his wife to be summoned. Mrs.
Fleming begged me to come with the carriage and urge her to return with
me.”

Daisie sobbed aloud in grief and pity for the man suddenly stricken
down in youth’s early dawn, and the young minister thought:

“Mrs. Fleming was right: She loved him, after all, and they would have
been reconciled to-morrow. What a calamity it is that sunders their
wedded lives so soon.”

But he did not attempt to offer any condolences to the sobbing girl. It
seemed to him that she had been rude to him all through in her pettish
anger.

A silent, miserable cortège, they filed into the hall, where so lately
mirth and joy reigned, now still and lonely, with scared servants
gliding to and fro, turning down the brilliant lights, and removing the
traces of festivity.

Letty Green was waiting with Cullen at the door to conduct them to the
dying man, and as they went along the corridor Mrs. Fleming herself
came to meet them, her eyes dim with tears, that made her festal robes
look strangely out of place.

She took Daisie’s hand, and whispered:

“You will soon be free now. Poor Royall cannot live long. It is his
love for you that has caused his death. That wretch killed him!”

“That wretch?” Daisie sobbed uncomprehendingly; and Mrs. Fleming hissed
in her ear:

“Who but his cruel rival?”

Daisie would have sunk to the floor but for the widow’s supporting arm,
and she moaned, in distress:

“Ah, no, no, no!”

They were almost at the door, the minister and Mrs. Bell in advance,
when, pausing a moment, Mrs. Fleming muttered:

“Compose yourself. I have told no one the truth, and perhaps I never
shall. That will depend on you, Daisie Bell. But listen: When the fatal
shot was fired, I looked around quickly, and saw the cruel murderer
rushing from the scene. He was tall, and dark, and handsome, and I knew
him at once; and I shrieked out his name, but I think no one heard it.
So presently, even while they were all crying out to know who did it,
I feigned swooning, and answered nothing, for a thought came to me,
that----But come, let us go in to Royall now, poor boy!” dragging her
over the threshold.

CHAPTER XVIII.

“BE KIND TO ME.”

Half dazed with horror, Daisie followed Mrs. Fleming over the threshold
into the darkened room, where a grave-faced physician watched by the
bedside of the dying man.

She saw Royall Sherwood lying among the pillows, his delicate blond
complexion changed to a purplish pallor, his eyes closed, lying as
still as if already dead.

The physician came to them softly, and whispered:

“He has fallen asleep, and it might be better not to disturb him until
he awakes naturally.”

“But will he ever awake?” whispered Mrs. Fleming, with a stifled sob.

“Oh, yes, I think so. You may withdraw into another room, and I will
call you as soon as he opens his eyes.”

They obeyed him, going softly to another room, where Mrs. Fleming left
Daisie alone a few moments, saying:

“I must go and see to your aunt’s comfort; then I will return, for I
have something very serious to say to you.”

Daisie was left alone in the luxurious boudoir, where the electric
lights, filtered through rosy globes, shed a warm, pink glow on her
pallid face. But she did not think of envying the rich widow her wealth
and splendor. Her heart sped on the wings of love to Dallas, from whom
she had been so cruelly parted, and, with a sudden feeling that she was
powerless in the grasp of the untoward fate that beset her, she fell on
her knees, praying humbly:

“Oh, God, deliver me from the snare of my enemies!”

That was all, for she was too wretched to add another word; but in her
despair she remained upon her knees, her golden head bent low in the
attitude of prayer, and thus Mrs. Fleming found her when she presently
returned.

The sight might have moved a tender-hearted woman to pity, but Lutie
Fleming was as hard as the nether millstone.

She would rather have seen her successful rival crushed with grief and
woe than happy in the love of Dallas Bain, as she had seen her such a
little while ago.

“Their triumph was short-lived,” she smiled to herself, as Daisie
dragged herself up to a sitting posture, showing her wild, white,
woeful face, from which all the light of joy had been stricken out by
sorrow.

“Well, your aunt has retired, as there was really nothing to be gained
by her sitting up, so you and I will keep our vigil together,” the
widow said, and Daisie bowed coldly, without answering. What, indeed,
could she say? She felt herself caught in the toils of a terrible
fate from which she could see no escape. “As I was saying to you a
little while ago, Daisie, the outcome of this matter depends on you,”
continued Mrs. Fleming. “My position is a very delicate one. My cousin,
whom I dearly love, has been murdered in cold-blooded malice by the man
you love--by your lover!”

“Ah, no, no--never; he did not do it! Dallas would not be so cruel. You
have made a mistake,” sobbed Daisie piteously.

“There is no mistake. I saw the murder done--saw Dallas Bain flying
from the scene of the crime. And the motive is plain. It was murderous
wrath because Royall had married you. He did it to set you free for
himself, forgetting that even you could hardly dare to brave public
opinion by marrying your husband’s murderer.”

Daisie shuddered, without answering, and watched the light-blue orbs of
Mrs. Fleming as if they were a basilisk’s eyes, feeling the while as if
a serpent’s folds were tightening around her, slowly crushing her to
death.

“Of course,” continued her tormentor, “my duty is plain. I should
denounce Royall’s cowardly murderer to the law, and let him suffer for
his crime. But that would not restore my poor cousin to life.”

“No,” faltered Daisie, almost appealingly, in her horror of the woman’s
trying to fasten such a crime on Dallas, for she felt in her heart he
was innocent.

“But my first thought is to soothe my cousin’s dying hours. The doctor
has told me that he may die to-night or to-morrow, or linger for days
in misery. There is even one single chance of his recovery--the chance
of a strong constitution triumphing over his terrible wound. You see,
I am quite frank with you, Daisie.”

“Yes, and I see you have some faint hope of your cousin’s recovery. I
hope, indeed, that he may live.”

“You need not wish that, Daisie. He would rather die than live without
your love.”

There was a brief silence. The midnight hour was very still. They could
hear the tide booming in upon the shore, the solemn, mysterious voice
of the sea. To poor Daisie it seemed to murmur of despair.

“Do you see what I am trying to get at, Daisie? Do you understand me?
In my regret for the terrible mistake I made in uniting your fate to
Royall’s, in my sorrow for my poor boy, and my wish to secure his
happiness, I am willing to make a bargain with you--the strangest
bargain ever made--to shield a cruel murderer for the sake of his
victim. Grant me this boon, Daisie: Be true to Royall for the brief
span of his life--whether long or short--give him the obedience of a
wife, and I, on my part, will keep your lover’s terrible secret, and
let him go free, his only punishment his accusing conscience.”

Again silence, and Daisie felt as if the last fold of the serpent were
wound around her, crushing her to death.

She cried desperately:

“Dallas did not do it--never, never!”

“I saw him with my own eyes,” Mrs. Fleming returned, with cold malice,
and waited for the answer.

Meanwhile, Daisie asked herself, in anguish, if she could bind herself
by such a terrible promise--to give up her lover, whom she believed
innocent; her lover, whom she loved with the passion of her life--and
bind herself to Royall Sherwood for the time that he should live.

“And who knows but that he may recover? This woman may be deceiving me
to gain her point,” whispered her heart; and she remained silent so
long that Mrs. Fleming exclaimed impatiently:

“Well, what do you say? What will you do?”

Daisie’s beautiful violet eyes, now dark with emotion, brimmed with
tears as she cried piteously:

“Oh, give me a little time to decide--until to-morrow!”

“You wish to warn Dallas Bain that his crime is known, that he may
escape!” sharply.

“No--no, for he is innocent, and if accused can no doubt prove it!” the
girl cried proudly.

“How? By an alibi? How long had he left you when you were called here?”
demanded the widow suspiciously, fearing the failure of her scheme.

But Daisie’s answer set her fears at rest.

“No, I could not prove an alibi for Dallas, because he left me at my
door as soon as he had taken me home; but of course he went straight to
his hotel, and can no doubt prove where he was at the time you thought
you saw him here. Oh, believe me, you have made a terrible mistake
in imputing this deed to him. Why should he wish to kill your cousin
to set me free, when he knew that the law would break my fetters so
easily?” pleaded Daisie wildly.

“It was jealous malice. He feared that Royall might persuade you to
remain his wife.”

“Ah, no; for Dallas knew my love too well,” began Daisie; but they were
interrupted by a tap on the door to summon them to Royall, who had
awakened.

Mrs. Fleming whispered pleadingly:

“Oh, Daisie, be kind to my poor cousin. Tell him you will stay with him
as long as he lives.”

“I will be kind to him, yes; how could I be harsh with him now? But
I will make no rash promises,” the young girl returned, with sudden
spirit.

“At least, promise not to hold any communication with Mr. Bain until
to-morrow.”

“I can make no promise,” Daisie reiterated, so resolutely that the arch
schemer had to give up her point, and proceeded in sullen silence to
the presence of the dying man.

He was awake and conscious, his eyes turning to the door with a look of
yearning.

Daisie’s tender heart was touched with pity as she gazed on the pallid,
pain-drawn face, and she softly touched his hand while she whispered:

“I am so sorry!”

Then she saw that they had all gone out into the hall, except the
widow, leaving them alone with the sufferer.

She felt herself pushed gently into a chair by Mrs. Fleming, who
whispered:

“I pray you be kind to him.”

“Be kind to me,” echoed Royall faintly, as his cousin withdrew to the
window, and his sunken blue eyes searched her face wistfully for some
sign of tenderness.

It was a cruel position for any girl to be placed in. Daisie felt its
pathos in the depths of her tender heart, that ached for the dying man,
who had given her his love in vain.

She whispered again, with a broken sob:

“Oh, I am so sorry for you!”

A faint, tremulous smile illumined his features, and he groped for her
hand.

She let him have it, and he pressed it feebly, whispering:

“You are not angry now?”

“No,” she answered solemnly, out of the depths of her pity. “Do we not
forgive everything to the dying?”

And surely he looked like a dying man, under the light of the
flickering lamp.

“Bless you!” he murmured, in that faint voice, and added: “You will
stay with me to the end?”

It was the same petition Mrs. Fleming had offered, and she started and
trembled with the same alarm.

The end! What would it be?

The widow had frankly hinted that he had a slight chance for continued
life.

And if they extorted from her this ambiguous promise to stay till the
end, and he lived, what then? Would they hold her to this promise?

She knew in her heart that he would do it; that he would hold her
forever against her beloved. So she dare not promise.

A nervous tremor shook her form, and she faltered:

“I will stay till to-morrow.”

His eyes searched hers with wistful reproach.

“But, dear one, I may not die to-morrow. The physician says I may go
out like the flame of a candle to-night, or I may linger on for days.
Can you deny me the comfort of your presence till the last hour? Can
you be so cruel, when I have loved you so?”

His strained voice broke in a gasp, and he lay looking at her
pitifully, love and sorrow in his anguished eyes.

It pierced her heart with pity, but she dared not yield, for fear of
the uncertain future.

Yet she had a tender heart, and it ached with sympathy, though she had
to steel herself against his prayer.

“Cruel, cruel!” he sighed reproachfully, and she shrank as from a blow.

“How can you be so hard and unfeeling?” demanded his cousin,
approaching. “Do you not see how you excite him by your refusals? And
it is so little that he asks--simply to stay by him till the last hour,
that may come sooner than any one expects. See how humbly he sues,
when, as your husband, he has a right to command your obedience.”

“I do not acknowledge that claim!” Daisie cried, with a flashing eye.

“Nor do I urge it,” Royall Sherwood faltered quickly. “I waive all
rights, if I have any, and ask your stay for sweet pity’s sake.”

That humility touched her heart as no arrogant demands could have done,
and it made it all the harder for her to withstand their appeals.

But, bracing herself for a supreme effort, she reiterated:

“I--I really cannot stay any longer than to-morrow. I am compelled to
return to New York to my work. I--I--have written that I am coming.”

“That makes no difference,” began Mrs. Fleming, but paused in
consternation as a slight young figure dashed across the floor to
Daisie, and a tremulous voice cried excitedly:

“Cruel, hard-hearted girl! You shall not refuse his prayer! Will you
let a man die of heartbreak when your kindness would save his life?”

CHAPTER XIX.

STRANGE EMOTION.

It was the little, dark-eyed beauty, Annette Janowitz, who had been
listening by the door for some minutes, and now, unable to restrain her
excitement, rushed to Daisie’s side with a passionate protest:

“Would you let a man die of heartbreak when your kindness would save
his life?”

Annette was terribly excited.

Her slight frame trembled with emotion, and her large black eyes
gleamed like stars out of her pale face, wasted and worn from recent
illness. Her expression was one of the keenest anguish.

Daisie looked up in wonder at her little friend, faltering:

“Oh, Annette, how came you here at this midnight hour? Who told you
what had happened?”

The words produced a terrible effect on the little brunette.

She gasped for breath, and turned as ashen pale as the dying man on
the bed, seeming as if about to sink to the floor, until Mrs. Fleming
hurriedly forced her into a chair.

Then, utterly disregarding her friend’s question, she uttered wildly:

“Royall Sherwood must not die! He must not die, for then the man that
shot him would be a cruel murderer! And I am sure he would not wish
it. He did not mean it. He made a terrible mistake, and--but what am I
saying?” fearfully. “I don’t know anything about this, except that I’m
so sorry--so sorry--and Mr. Sherwood’s life must be saved, no matter by
what sacrifice! Listen to me, Daisie Bell: You must not refuse anything
he asks you to do, for if you leave him he will surely die, and you
will be his murderer, not that other one. No, not that other one, for
I’m sure he made an awful mistake, and--and----Oh, stay here to nurse
Mr. Sherwood; do, dear Daisie, and I will stay and help you all I can.”

They scarcely knew what to make of her incoherent words, and both women
united in trying to calm her, Daisie stroking her little dark head
tenderly, while Mrs. Fleming said kindly:

“Be more quiet, dear, lest you excite Royall too much. See how wild he
looks.”

“No, no--let her say what she will. I see that she is on my side,” he
faltered, with half-closed eyes and a quivering smile.

Annette turned again quickly to Daisie, saying wildly:

“Yes, yes; I am on his side! I want him to get well! So, will you
promise what he wishes, Daisie?”

“Annette, come away with me a while, dear, and let us talk this over,”
Daisie answered, taking the girl’s burning hand in her own and leading
her away to Mrs. Fleming’s boudoir. “Now, calm yourself, and let us
understand each other. Do you know who shot Mr. Sherwood?” she asked
suspiciously.

“No, no--of course not, Daisie! What a very foolish question!” panted
Annette in visible alarm.

“Well, then, tell me how you found out so quickly that this had
happened, and how came you here at this gloomy midnight hour--you, who
have been too ill to leave your bed?”

“I--I----Oh, Daisie, wait till I think a bit! My head seems dazed with
it all. Yes, yes; this is the way: Our servant girl brought the news.
She had been up here looking on at the play, and stayed very late. So
it happened--that ghastly thing--before she came away. I was awake and
restless when she came back, so I called to her for some ice water.
She came in and told me all, and that Mrs. Fleming had sent for you. I
wanted to come and help you, so I made Lucy come with me, and then sent
her to break it to mamma, who will be terribly angry at me, I know. But
I don’t care--I don’t care for anything, so that Royall Sherwood gets
well.”

“Are you in love with him, Annette?”

“Of course not, you silly girl! Don’t you know that I have a splendid
lover in the West?” laughing hysterically.

“Oh, yes; I had forgotten. But you told me he was coming to see you,
Annette--has he come yet?”

A strange light gleamed in the dark, uplifted eyes, and Annette’s hand
was pressed convulsively on her heart while she answered:

“No, he could not come----Oh, what am I saying? He came, but his visit
was very short, for he was called away by a telegram. I was so sorry,
for I wished to bring him to call on you. He was so tall, and dark, and
handsome, like your noble Dallas. Oh!” and suddenly Annette broke down
and wept in wildest grief.

Daisie let the storm abate; then said anxiously:

“Dear, did your servant tell you about--my marriage?”

“Yes--oh, yes--everything. And so Dallas came back to you, after all? I
wish my lover could come back to me,” sighing. “But, Daisie, you cannot
help yourself now, since Royall is your husband; and if you desert him
now it will seem so heartless, as if you wished him to die! And, oh,
he must not die! That would be too dreadful. Let him get well by your
help, and then leave him, if you wish, Daisie.”

Daisie sighed to herself that every one was in league against her. She
had not a friend in the world but Dallas. Oh, if only he were by her
side now!

Sighing wearily, she answered:

“Do not tease me any more to-night, dear, for I cannot make up my mind
until I see Dallas to-morrow. He must advise me what to do, for I am
all at sea. Of course, I wish to be kind to the dying, but I cannot,
must not, do anything that will hinder me from getting a divorce from
him should he live. So you see how hard my position is, dear, and must
not urge me to anything that will wreck my life’s happiness.”

“No, I will not. But, ah, I cannot bear for Mr. Sherwood to die! He
must live--he must live!” cried Annette, relapsing into wildness again.

Daisie begged her to be quiet, promising to do what she could to help
on Royall’s recovery.

“I shall stay anyhow until to-morrow, if you will stay with me,
Annette,” she said; and this the young girl readily promised to do.

When Mrs. Fleming came to them presently, they told her this; and as
she saw that all her threats could not force Daisie into acquiescence
she had to be content with what the girl offered.

She said sullenly:

“Perhaps you will both wish to retire now, as Royall cannot bear any
further excitement to-night. In fact, another physician has been
telegraphed for from Baltimore, as an operation will have to be
performed to find and remove the bullet.”

A sob from each girl showed how deeply the words moved them. Then
Annette said pleadingly:

“Daisie, you must let me share your room, for I’m so nervous I shan’t
be able to sleep a wink, and I’ll feel better if I have company.”

“So shall I,” returned Daisie sadly; and they were shown to a beautiful
room, whose soft white couch invited sound repose.

But, alas! In Daisie’s heart there was grief that murdered sleep, so
that she spent the hours till dawn in a dreary vigil, wondering what
the morrow would bring to her, not daring to hope for Royall Sherwood’s
death, since that would be a sin, yet conscious that such a catastrophe
would mean freedom and happiness for her and Dallas. As for Mrs.
Fleming’s terrible accusation, she believed it was only a ruse to force
her into terms, and determined not to let it influence her decision.

Annette, too, must have had some hidden sorrow aching at her heart,
for she did not even lie down, but remained for hours sitting at an
open window, staring out into the darkness with big solemn eyes that
saw nothing but despair in the unknown future.

CHAPTER XX.

HIS CONFESSION.

“May I speak to you alone a few minutes, Doctor Burns?” murmured
Daisie, following the physician out from breakfast the next morning.

“Certainly, Mrs. Sherwood,” he returned deferentially; but she turned
back from the threshold of the little morning room they were entering,
with a passionate gesture and heart-wrung cry:

“Not that--oh, not that--Miss Bell is my name!”

“I beg your pardon.”

He bowed, and followed her across the threshold, closed the door,
and placed a chair for her, sitting down opposite, and surveying her
critically through his gold-bowed glasses, thinking, perhaps, that her
wonderful beauty was all the more striking for the deadly pallor it
wore.

“I think you married Mr. Sherwood last night?” he remarked.

The violet eyes flashed and darkened, and Daisie’s golden head crested
itself with sudden anger.

“Perhaps you are aware of the circumstances of that marriage?” she
asked, with icy hauteur.

“Yes; an ill-timed joke on the part of our hostess; but, unfortunately,
binding until the law is invoked to release you. So you are really Mrs.
Sherwood.”

“Do not remind me of that fact unless you wish to drive me mad!” she
exclaimed entreatingly; and he gazed at her in simple wonder, replying:

“Perhaps, then, I am mistaken in believing that you were engaged to Mr.
Sherwood, and only angry because the marriage was a premature one?”

“Yes, yes,” she said; then studied his face to see if she could trust
him.

It was the face of a man of sixty years, genial and open, with a
sympathy that encouraged her to exclaim:

“Doctor Burns, I am in sore trouble, and I need a friend’s advice. Will
you be that friend?”

“Most gladly, my dear young lady,” he replied, so kindly that she was
emboldened to sketch for him, in few but moving words, her brief love
story.

“Now you see where I stand, Doctor Burns--married to one man and in
love with another. Could anything be more distressing?” she cried
appealingly; and he agreed with her that it was most unpleasant,
while he thought within himself that the world had far too many such
distressing cases.

She continued eagerly:

“Mr. Bain promised to secure a lawyer to-day to take my case, so of
course I should not even be here under the same roof with Mr. Sherwood;
but----” She paused, and he added pityingly:

“The circumstances of the case made it impossible for you to decline
returning here last night. Common humanity would have been outraged by
a refusal. But why trouble yourself over the ethics of the case, my
dear young lady? Divorce proceedings are not likely to be needed, since
you may soon be a widow.”

She shuddered at the bluntness of the words; then rallied her courage,
and said frankly:

“Doctor, that is why I wished to speak with you, to ask you for the
plain truth. Is Royall Sherwood going to live or die?”

“The issues of life and death are in God’s hands alone,” evasively.

“But you are skilled in reading the signs, and you told Mrs. Fleming
that he had one chance of life.”

“Yes, I told her so; but it is so very slight, and life hangs on a
thread. The operation to remove the bullet was very exhausting, but
successful. He lies now in a comatose condition, from which he may
rally to make a struggle for renewed existence, or he may sink soon
into the sleep of death.”

“Death!” What an awfully solemn word it was! How it shook her nerves!
She burst into hysterical sobs, and Doctor Burns hastily prepared a
sedative, and forced her to swallow it.

“You need it. It will give you sleep,” he said gently.

After a painful struggle with her crowding emotions, she continued:

“You have promised to be my friend, so tell me what to do. You
understand, I mean to be free of this marriage, whether Mr. Sherwood
lives or dies? Then what must I do? Leave the house to-day?”

“Most certainly not! To do so would destroy his one chance of life,” he
exclaimed, with the anxiety of a physician.

“But, doctor, he need not know,” she cried piteously.

“It would be impossible to keep him from it, since in his waking hours
he calls often for you. It would be harsh and cruel to destroy his one
chance to live by the shock of such a desertion,” Doctor Burns replied,
telling her the truth without disguise, in his anxiety over his patient.

He thought she was going to faint, she turned so white as she clasped
her hands on her heart, where pity for Royall Sherwood struggled with
passion for her absent lover.

His dark, tender eyes, his noble face, rose before her mind’s eye, and
she sobbed:

“Oh, that I might see Dallas! He would tell me what to do.”

“Shall I bring him here to see you?” he asked quickly.

“Oh, if you only would!”

“Then I will do so this morning, and if he is the noble man I take him
for he will bid you stay and save his rival’s life, even though you
desert him afterward--although, if my advice were asked, I should say
make the best of a bargain, and keep the husband you have already won,
since, after all, it’s not a bad match. Sherwood has loads of money,
and isn’t at all a bad fellow.”

“I know--I know; but Love goes where it is sent, and I could never care
for him as he deserved. Oh, Doctor Burns, don’t you turn against me,
too, for all are in league to break my heart!” wildly.

“Poor girl--poor girl! Then I’ll take your part by going at once to
bring Mr. Bain to consult with you. Where shall I find him?”

“At the hotel, I suppose,” she returned, adding: “May God bless you for
your kindness to a poor, friendless girl!”

“Thank you. I have need of His blessing. And now go, like a good girl,
and take a nap until I return with Dallas Bain.”

She returned to her room to follow his advice, thinking that, indeed,
she would like to look a little fresher when Dallas came.

But in a few minutes Mrs. Fleming entered, saying:

“Royall is awake and asking for you. Will you come?”

Annette, who was dozing on the bed, looked up wearily, and exclaimed:

“Be kind to him, Daisie, so that he may get well. I will help to nurse
him; indeed, I will.”

Daisie arose and followed Mrs. Fleming to the sick room.

The nurse who was watching by the patient quickly left the room at a
gesture from the mistress of the house.

Royall, whose ghastly pallor made him look as if death had already
claimed him for its own, smiled feebly on the visitors, and murmured:

“Lutie, you may go into the next room while I speak to Daisie.”

They were alone--the beautiful, wretched girl and the husband who loved
her so vainly and was slipping away from her so fast into the darkness
of death.

He gazed at her with adoration in his dim blue eyes, and faltered:

“You did not leave me, Daisie. I am so glad, for I do not expect to
live long, and I will die happy if you stay by me to the last.”

Her heart was touched by his fervent love, and impulsively she smoothed
his cold hand caressingly.

But he sighed, and continued:

“I do not deserve your kindness, and I would not dare to accept
it--only that I believe I am--slipping away from life.”

“Oh, no, no--there is a chance!” she said gently.

“Would you wish me to live, Daisie?”

“Yes--oh, yes!”

“For you, dear?” wistfully.

“Do not let us speak of that now. I--I am too nervous,” she murmured.

“I understand, and I will not tease you by begging for your love--for
I have a confession to make to you--my dying confession--and when you
have heard it I cannot blame you if you hate me.”

How she pitied him now--she who had hated him only last night. But
death cancels all resentments.

She wiped the dew from his cold brow with her soft and gentle hand. She
stroked his fair curls softly, thinking how handsome he was in his fair
style--only no one could approach her splendid lover, Dallas.

“I shall pray God to let you live,” she whispered; and a sudden hatred
came to her for the fiend whose cowardly bullet had laid low this
promising life.

“Wait till I tell you all,” he sighed remorsefully. “Ah, Daisie, I
have done you a cruel wrong, but I cannot go down to death without
confessing it, and then you will hate my very memory.”

“No, no--I will forgive you!” she murmured, out of her womanly sympathy.

“Ah, you don’t know it yet,” Royall Sherwood cried, half accusingly,
and added: “I told you last night that I did not know what Lutie had
done, but it was false. I was in the plot to deceive you. I went to her
with my troubles, and my fear of losing you, since you were going away,
and she suggested the plan to get you to help us last night, and make
the wedding a real one. I agreed to it, and won you for my bride by a
fraud, a hideous lie.”

Startled beyond the power of speech, she gazed at him in dumb horror.

“Ah, I knew you would hate me! But I could not die without making my
peace with God,” he moaned faintly. “I told the preacher about it last
night, and he prayed for me, and said I must tell you all, so as to
win God’s forgiveness and yours. You can forgive me, can’t you, since
I was so soon cut down in my wickedness, and forced to repent? And,
Daisie, I have sent for my lawyer. I shall leave you my whole fortune
in atonement, so that you may one day be happy with Dallas Bain.”

“I will not accept it--I do not want it!” she cried hastily, adding:
“Take my forgiveness freely. You sinned against me through your great
love, so I cannot hate you.”

A glad smile irradiated his features, and he was about to thank her for
her goodness when Doctor Burns entered softly, having returned from his
mission into the town.

He expressed his pleasure at seeing Royall “getting on so nicely,” as
he expressed it. Then he called in the nurse, and beckoned Daisie from
the room.

Her heart gave a wild throb of joy, and she followed him eagerly,
expecting to behold Dallas the very next moment.

CHAPTER XXI.

SHE LONGED FOR DEATH.

Daisie Bell followed the kindly old physician back to the little
room where they had spoken together a while ago, her heart throbbing
wildly, her eyes gleaming brightly, her color coming and going with the
delightful anticipation of soon meeting her darling.

Doctor Burns held open the door, and she stepped eagerly across the
threshold, flashing her eyes brightly around in search of Dallas Bain.

But the room was untenanted by the splendid form she had expected to
see, and the old doctor said gently:

“I did not find Mr. Bain. He had gone away.”

“Gone away?” And her face paled with astonishment.

“Yes; he left the hotel a little before daylight this morning, telling
the clerk he was returning to New York. But sit down, my dear young
lady, and call up all your fortitude, for I fear I have most unpleasant
news for you,” exclaimed Doctor Burns solicitously, and as she sank
nervously into the nearest seat he continued: “I almost fear that this
Dallas Bain is unworthy of your regard. Has there not always been
something mysterious about the young man?”

“Oh, Doctor Burns, do not you also join the ranks of his traducers!”
Daisie faltered, clasping her little hands together, tears welling into
her beautiful eyes.

Then she looked up into his benevolent old face, and was startled at
the fatherly pity that beamed from his kind gray eyes.

Drawing his chair close to hers, he regarded her kindly, saying:

“I have something very strange to tell you, but perhaps you will be
able to explain the mystery of it, since you know Mr. Bain so well.”

His voice was so grave that she felt an icy chill run over her frame,
and her lips refused to utter a word, so he continued:

“About two hours after midnight a young woman dressed in black, and
so heavily veiled as to be unrecognizable, called at the hotel, and
insisted on having Dallas Bain called up, as she had very important
news for him.

“The clerk sent the porter upstairs for Mr. Bain, and he was found
up and dressed, not having retired yet. He came down quickly, and
the young woman insisted on having a private interview with him. He
yielded, and they were alone some moments in the clerk’s private
office. They came out, and the woman hurried away, and the man, looking
as though he had seen a ghost, went quickly upstairs to his room again.
In half an hour he came down, paid his bill, and said he was returning
to New York by the first train. He had no baggage, having only arrived
the evening before, and said he would walk to the train.

“Well, the curious part of the story is, the hotel porter, prompted by
curiosity, followed the veiled lady in black. She went directly to the
station, and the porter, remaining to watch her, saw her finally board
the train for New York. Directly Dallas Bain came hurrying up, and
leaped on the train just as it was pulling out of the station.

“So there is my story as brief as I could make it. Can you make
anything out of it, my dear?”

She was pale as death, her great eyes black with emotion, her hand
pressed convulsively upon her heart as she faltered, through trembling
lips:

“I cannot.”

“You have no suspicion as to the identity of the veiled woman?”

“No. I know nothing of his past. She may have been his mother, his
sister,” she breathed hopefully.

“Perhaps so,” he replied; then paused and regarded her with tender,
pitying eyes.

“Why do you look at me so strangely? I will not be pitied!” the girl
cried, with sudden anger. “You have something more to tell me. Go on,
then. Say your worst. I don’t think it will kill me,” proudly.

“That’s right, my brave girl! No man is worth dying for, and there’s
as good fish in the sea as ever were caught,” cried the old doctor
jovially, glad of her pride.

But in a minute he looked away from her to the window, and asked, in a
lowered voice:

“Have you happened to hear that--Mrs. Fleming’s maid, pretty little
Letty Green, eloped last night?”

“No.” She stared at him in wonder, then laughed unnaturally. “She went
with Cullen, of course?”

“No, Cullen is here.”

There was an awful silence for a few moments. She broke it with a
scornful laugh, asking coldly:

“Do you wish me to believe that--that--my noble, handsome lover,
Dallas--went off with Mrs. Fleming’s servant, that pert little Letty?”

“That is what the jealous Cullen is saying. I don’t ask you to believe
it, but he seems to be sure of his facts.”

He saw the golden head droop, and the face fall into the hands, and he
guessed the awful humiliation that made her hide it from his gaze.

“My poor child, you don’t know how it pained me to come to you with
this horrible story to shake your faith in your lover; but it could not
be withheld, you know,” he said.

She lifted her face, and it was like a death mask, so cold, so stony,
the light and beauty all stricken from it at a blow.

“I am not blaming you,” she said, in a cold voice that matched her
face. “But--will you bring that man here to me?”

He went out, and she was alone--alone with a sorrow more bitter than
death.

“And I loved him so!” she murmured, with an ineffable pathos, throwing
her arms to the empty air, as if throwing from her the broken love
dream that had fooled her heart.

The door opened, and the servant, Cullen, stood before her--a stocky,
red-headed man, with a merry, good-looking face--sullen and red with
anger now.

He said, almost rudely:

“If you want me, miss, say your say quick, for I’m in a devil of a
hurry to catch the next train for New York, and if I get on their track
I’ll kill ’em both, certain!”

Daisie shuddered with dread, for the deserted lover looked both
ferocious and bloodthirsty, and was glowering upon her now as if he
held her personally responsible for the miscarriage of his love affair.

“So, then--Letty Green has really gone?” she faltered.

“Yes, miss, and with that darn rascal--begging your pardon; the words
slipped out--yes, she went with that fine gentleman, Mr. Bain, who
wasn’t too fine to be courting Mrs. Fleming’s maid on the sly while
he courted her mistress in the parlor. Oh, he was a flirt, was that
fellow, and could fool any woman with his deceitful black eyes! Letty
was fairly crazed with them till he up and went off without a good-by
to her; then her pride was up in arms, and she made believe she didn’t
care. I was fool enough to believe her, and made her promise to marry
me. A good enough match I was for her, too, if her silly head hadn’t
been turned by soft sawder before. D--n him!”

“Cullen, you forget yourself,” reminded Doctor Burns sternly.

“Lord, sir, I know it, and I humbly ask the lady’s pardon for cussing.
But I ain’t myself at all, that I ain’t, and all along of that humbug
Letty that I was saving my wages to marry. And I give her my money to
keep, too, and she’s off with it along of that scamp, and sent me back
from the station a sassy, impertinent note, the baggage, that--I’d like
to cram down her throat!”

So saying, he thrust the note rudely into Daisie’s hand.

Her first impulse was to cast it from her with loathing, but feminine
curiosity prevailed, and she read these words:

It’s an ill wind blows nobody good. Miss Bell’s marriage was good
luck for me.

She had lured Dallas Bain from me, but as soon as he found out
she was married and he couldn’t get her, his thoughts turned back
to me. After Mr. Sherwood was shot, and his bride came back to
him, I found Dallas wandering half crazy about the grounds, and
set myself to comfort him. It was easier than I thought, for he
owned to me that if he hadn’t taken that sudden infatuation for
Daisie Bell, he’d have married me weeks before. So I told him it
wasn’t too late, and he jumped at the idea, and in short, he said
if I’d come with him to New York on the first train, he’d marry
me soon as we got there. You can guess how quick I consented,
Cullen, for you knew all along I loved him, though you was
foolish enough to take me on any terms. But you’ll never get me.
I’m born for your betters, though Dallas did own that he warn’t
no fit match for Miss Bell, as he lived by his wits, and had
served a burglary term in the penitentiary. But I can overlook
everything, I love him so, with his soft white hands, and sweet
smiles, and solemn black eyes! So I’m writing this at the station
while we wait for the train to come.

Good-by, old friend. I’ll keep your savings for a wedding
present. You’ll have to find another sweetheart, and that
spiteful cat, Mrs. Fleming, another maid.

Letty Green--soon to be Letty Bain--Mrs. Dallas Bain! Don’t that
sound grand? Maybe I’ll be back to Gull Beach some time flying in
high society. Tra, la!

LETTY.

The letter slipped from Daisie’s trembling hand to the floor, and the
jilted lover caught it up, muttering:

“I’ll keep it till I find her, and cram it down her sassy throat, the
impertinent jade! Keep my savings for a wedding gift, indeed! We’ll
see about that! Most likely they’ll buy her a coffin, if I swing for
it--yes, and him, too, the sneaking dude! You are well rid of him,
miss--or missus, I ought to say--for you’ve got a noble husband, by
good luck, and----”

Here Daisie put out a protesting hand, and the old doctor exclaimed:

“You’ll miss your train, Cullen!”

At that, the man rushed away, and they were left alone.

Doctor Burns patted her cold hand, and asked her if the story could be
true.

His fatherly heart ached for her when she sighed and answered:

“It is horrible. I would rather die than believe it--but there seems no
room for doubt.”

The anguish of a broken heart was in her face and voice, and all his
manhood rose in arms in her defense.

“Curse the villain! I’d like to horsewhip him for you, and I hope
Cullen will find him and do it on his own account!” he exclaimed
angrily, adding: “But, my dear, you’ve had a lucky escape from his
toils, and I wouldn’t wear the willow if I were you. You’ve made a
grand match, if it was brought about by a joke, and Royall loves you
madly. Take my advice, and stick to him. He may get well and catch
your heart in the rebound yet, so you may save your pride from this
downfall.”

CHAPTER XXII.

“THE DIE WAS CAST.”

Poor Daisie Bell! Everything and everybody seemed to be against her,
and the old doctor’s specious reasoning appealed to her pride, if not
her heart.

What was any proud, sensitive girl likely to do, confronted with
such conditions--to wear the willow, on the one hand, for a fickle,
faithless lover, or to “take the goods the gods provided”?

Every one advised the latter, and Daisie’s pride was a powerful ally.

In her secret despair, she longed for death; but it would not come at
her call.

She was young, beautiful, and possessed of superb health, besides an
overweening pride that would not permit her to pine away and die for a
faithless lover who had fled with so contemptible a rival.

She looked piteously at the old doctor, exclaiming:

“I would rather return to my teacher’s desk in New York, and to a life
of poverty and toil, than remain here in luxury as the wife of a man I
do not love.”

“I believe you, my dear young lady; but you are hedged in by
circumstances you cannot break through. The condition of the man you
have married appeals to your pity, if not your heart.”

“Yes,” she assented sadly; and he continued:

“If you turned against him now you would, by the shock of your
desertion, destroy his slight chance of life. Can you bear to do it?”

“And if he lives,” she said, “I am bound for life to a man I cannot
love.”

He shrank before the despair in her eyes, not knowing how to urge her
further, and for a moment there was a blank silence.

The next moment something happened that turned the wavering scales in
Royall Sherwood’s favor. The sick nurse came to the door, saying:

“Mrs. Fleming wants you to come at once, Doctor Burns; Mr. Sherwood has
a sinking spell.”

“Tell her I am coming,” and he beckoned Daisie to follow.

She shrank back, and he said, almost sternly:

“It may mean death. Can you be so--heartless?”

He could not bear to lose his patient. As for her--who pitied her? Who
considered for a moment whether her life was to be wrecked or not, poor
Daisie Bell?

He was rich, and she was poor--that made all the difference in the
world. They all thought she should be proud of her good luck.

She was like a solitary leaf blown hither and thither by the winds of
destiny, with no volition of her own. Why struggle against overwhelming
fate?

She looked appealingly into the old doctor’s stern, questioning eyes,
and faltered despairingly:

“You can tell him that--that I will--stay.”

Then, before he could put out an arresting hand, she swayed like a
broken flower, and fell unconscious at his feet.

Meanwhile, Dallas Bain--an equal victim with Daisie in the diabolical
plot that had sundered two devoted hearts--had gone away, indeed,
fooled by the cunning of an unscrupulous woman, who, angered by his
scorn, had sworn to wreck his hopes by parting him from his beautiful
young love forever.

She had succeeded but too well, and could laugh now at the success of
her treacherous schemes.

Letty Green had, indeed, visited him at the hotel that night, but
it was as the tool of her wicked mistress, bought over to evil by a
tempting bribe.

She had carried to Dallas the first news of the attempted murder of
Royall Sherwood, and also a note purporting to be from Daisie, in
which she stated that she felt it her duty to remain with her husband,
as the physician represented that his only chance of life lay in her
forgiveness.

Mrs. Fleming was an adept at counterfeiting penmanship, and it was a
very fair sample of Daisie’s in which she wrote:

All is over between us, Dallas, though I love you best, for duty
binds me to my suffering husband. And this tie of duty I shall
faithfully observe, for I pity him now; and as pity is akin to
love, perhaps I may forget my infatuation for you, and learn to
love him yet. This would be the best way out of my trouble, so I
pray you not to urge me to see you again, but to pass out of my
life as if you had never existed. It will help me to forget the
sooner, and God knows I have need to forget.

Dallas Bain was almost stunned by the weight of his misfortunes, but
all his cross-examination of smiling Letty did not trip the clever
little maid, who had been well tutored by her mistress, and did not
forget her part.

With a smile on her treacherous lips, Letty told glib stories of how
the young bride had clung to her wounded husband, beseeching him to
live for her sake, that she would never leave him again, et cetera,
until the listener’s heart sank like a stone in his breast.

“And he will live?” Dallas asked presently, in a husky voice that she
scarcely knew as his own, it was so changed by grief.

“Oh, yes, sir--or, at least, the doctor hopes so, and thinks it likely;
but he told Mrs. Sherwood flatly that if she left him he was sure to
die. She said she shouldn’t think of such a thing; so then Mr. Sherwood
was delighted, and said he didn’t mean to die, in spite of the cruel
rival who had meant to kill him.”

Then, for the first time, Dallas felt some curiosity over Sherwood, and
asked:

“Who was it that shot him?”

The maid gave him a searching glance, and answered pertly:

“No names were called, but everybody is saying that the deed was done
by some lover of the lady who was mad about her marriage.”

“Meaning me?” he asked, with a scornful glance; and Letty giggled,
without answering.

He regarded her sternly a moment; then said:

“Go back to--the lady that sent you here, and tell her it shall be as
she wishes. I am leaving for New York on the first train, and I shall
never cross her path again.”

“Yes, sir--and I make no doubt she will be glad to hear it. Old
sweethearts are just in the way when a girl is once married,” Letty
uttered mockingly, as she flounced out of the presence of the man she
had deceived to carry on her nefarious work.

The next step was to go to the station and board the same train with
Dallas, so as to lend color to the story of her elopement, as related
in the letter that Cullen had shown to Daisie, it also having been
written by the clever little schemer, Mrs. Fleming.

So the cruel deed was done, and two loving hearts forced asunder to
tread divided paths in a wretched life made desolate in its dawning by
the tragedy of hopeless love.

The jealous pain of Dallas was, indeed, beyond expression, but no angry
thought of Daisie mixed with his grief.

He could understand from Letty’s garbled story what an influence had
been brought to bear on the young girl’s heart, and how she had almost
been forced into submission.

His grief for her was as bitter as for himself, and he knew it was
better to go away, as she had said, and never see her again, since they
were sundered by so insurmountable an obstacle.

One thing racked his heart in her letter. It was the hope she expressed
that she might forget him and learn to love her husband.

“That was cruel, but she did not mean it so, poor little Daisie, my
lost love!” he sighed; and he resolved that he would try to forget her
also, since to remember was but pain. “Let her forget me if she will.
I, too, will forget--if I can.”

The end of it was that presently he went away to New York with the
heaviest heart in the world, leaving behind him the scene of his brief
love dream, with its blended joy and sorrow, to take up in sadness the
burden of a life whence hope had fled, and to try to drown memory in
Lethe’s tide.

CHAPTER XXIII.

“MISERY LOVES COMPANY.”

Though Letty Green conspicuously boarded the same train that he took,
she was very careful not to occupy the same car, lest he should see her
and have his suspicions aroused. Indeed, her concern with him ended
here, for she had a fat roll of money with which to enjoy herself in
the great city, and she now gave herself up to joyful anticipations of
triumphs awaiting her in the near future.

As for Dallas, he threw himself moodily into a seat, and became a prey
to such unpleasant reflections that it would have taken little less
than an earthquake to attract his attention. The nearest thing to it,
however--a collision with another train--suddenly brought him back,
with a terrible shock, to things sublunary.

All at once there was a terrible rumble, then a shock that telescoped
the train and made it a jumble of broken, flying timbers and crushed
and bleeding humanity, on which the gray light of early dawn shone
with dim gleams through a drizzle of summer rain.

Dallas felt himself hurled violently somewhere--to death, he hoped, in
that brief moment before he landed with a dull thud on the soft grass
in a field close by the railroad.

He lay still a few moments, feeling as if every bone in his body were
broken, and just waiting languidly for death to still his fluttering
breath.

The thought came to him of Daisie. Would she be sorry when she heard he
was dead? That he had met his death obeying her wish, that he should go
away forever?

Then he became conscious of groans, and cries, and anxious voices.
People were going about among the dead and wounded, helping them out
from the awful wreck.

Two of the trainmen bent over him, saying:

“Look at this fellow, hurled through the roof of the car out into the
hay field. Is he dead, or just stunned?”

Dallas opened wide his large black eyes, and gave them a start.

“Not dead, you see, thanks to this shock of hay I fell on. I thought at
first my bones were all broken, but give me your hands, and let’s see
if I can stand up. So! Why, I’m as sound as a dollar!” in amazement.

It was true. Death had passed him by, to take others not as willing to
go as this unhappy lover.

Several persons had been killed outright, and as many more wounded, so
Dallas joined the relief corps that was so busy, and in his anxiety
over others forgot for a while his own grief.

Hearing painful groans from beneath a pile of timbers, he set to work
removing them, when he was arrested by the groaning voice muttering:

“Don’t try to help me--let me die in this trap! It’s as good as I
deserve!”

“We might all be dead, friend, if we got our just deserts,” replied
Dallas, and did not desist until he dragged out the imprisoned man from
the obstructions that had pinned him down.

“Your arm’s broken, my poor fellow,” he said sympathetically to the
dark, handsome young man, who opened his eyes, stared at him a moment
in pallid wonder, then fainted dead away like a girl.

This did not surprise Dallas, who feared that the man might be
internally injured.

But he borrowed a flask of whisky from the porter, and set to work to
revive him with fine success.

The dark eyes opened again, and the man groaned woefully:

“So I’m dead, and yours is the first shade to greet me in the infernal
regions, Dallas Bain?”

Laughing shortly, Dallas answered:

“I don’t know where we’ve met before, friend, but that’s my name, and I
hope you’ll pardon my short memory in forgetting you. But really you’ve
made a mistake. We are both on top of the ground yet, and you seem
likely to survive your accident.”

“So much the worse! I deserve death, and desired it!” groaned the
wounded man, adding: “But you, Dallas Bain, aren’t you dead?”
resentfully. “Didn’t some one shoot you last night?”

“Oh, no--it was another fellow, an acquaintance of mine--Royall
Sherwood, down at Gull Beach, and he isn’t dead, but going to get well,
they say. What do you know about it, anyway?” with sudden suspicion.

“Nothing; but I hoped--I mean--I thought--or heard--you were killed.”

“Not much matter if I had been. When a fellow’s sweetheart has just
married another man he doesn’t cling to life for a while,” Dallas
murmured cynically.

“Your sweetheart--married--to another? Her name?” demanded the other,
in such tragic earnest that Dallas could not help confiding in him, so
he said sadly:

“I had the dearest, prettiest sweetheart in the world--blue-eyed Daisie
Bell--and last night there was a mock wedding at Sea View, and two arch
plotters made it a real marriage, and snared my Daisie in a web from
which she could not free herself, save by divorce. But we intended to
try it, anyhow, and she came away with me, poor dear! And then some one
shot Royall Sherwood, the man she married, and she had to go back to
him. But here comes a doctor to see you, and----Heavens! He has fainted
away again!”

A curious crowd came round, and a drummer from the rear coach that had
escaped with little injury, exclaimed:

“Let me look at this fellow! Why, it’s Ray Dering, from Cincinnati,
one of the finest traveling salesmen on the road. But he’s been on a
frightful tear for days, owing to some woman. Sweetheart jilted him, I
expect.”

“Poor fellow!” exclaimed Dallas Bain, a responsive chord touched in his
sore heart, and he immediately resolved to care for Ray Dering in his
illness, and cheer him when he recovered, perhaps on the principle that
“misery loves company.”

He had him removed to a farmhouse near by, and engaged board and
attendance for both, remaining there for tedious weeks while the
invalid’s broken arm knitted together, and finding him an interesting
study, for while at times he was genial to the point of fascination,
he was subject to mysterious moods of remorseful melancholy verging on
despair.

Dallas Bain saw that something was preying heavily on his mind, and one
day he said coaxingly:

“You had better tell me all about that love affair, Dering, and maybe I
can help you to fix it up better. Anyway, you know it is said that ‘a
sorrow shared is half cured.’”

CHAPTER XXIV.

COALS OF FIRE.

Ray Dering was gazing moodily out at the October woods changing to red
and gold beneath the autumn sky, and, with a violent start, he looked
at his friend, exclaiming:

“Why do you say I have a love affair? It is not true! I hate all women
for the sake of one who has been false to me.”

His pale, handsome face writhed with conflicting emotions, as he added:

“She has ruined my life and made me a remorseful sinner, this cruel
little coquette that I loved so dearly.”

He leaned his face down on the window sill, and his form shook with
emotion too strong for words.

Dallas Bain was not surprised, for in his month’s association with this
man he had become convinced that a rooted sorrow, coupled with strange
remorse, lay at the bottom of his heart.

Ray Dering had heavy, restless nights, and strange, wild dreams, in
which he often talked aloud, so that Dallas had conceived suspicions
that he would not have breathed aloud.

But he believed that Ray Dering was good and noble at heart, and longed
to help and comfort him.

Hence his kind words that had stirred the other’s nature to such wild
emotion.

Dallas waited till the storm had spent itself and Ray’s heaving
shoulders grew calm again; then he said gently:

“You ask why I know you had a love affair? A drummer on the train, when
your arm was broken, told me so, and said you were throwing yourself
away for her sake. Now, why should you wreck your noble manhood for the
sake of a heartless little coquette?”

“Ah, why--why?” groaned Ray Dering bitterly. “Ah, Dallas Bain, you do
not know me, do not guess at the sleeping devil in my nature, or you
would not ask me such a question! Listen: I loved my bright, beautiful
little sweetheart with all the fire of a jealous, passionate nature,
and I thought I had her whole heart in return. We were to have been
married this winter, and I intended to leave the road then, and settle
down to a quiet life on a legacy left me by my maiden aunt last spring.
Well, I went to see her in August, full of love and pride--and, well,
I found out that my pretty little sweetheart was in love--with another
man.” Ray Dering shot a fiery glance at Dallas Bain, and added: “You
ought to know the girl and the man. She was Annette Janowitz--he
was----Ah, you start! No wonder!”

But it was not a guilty start from Dallas. He exclaimed:

“Do you mean Miss Janowitz, of Gull Beach, a little brunette beauty?
Why, she was an intimate friend of my own love, Daisie Bell.”

“And perhaps a friend of yours, too?” Ray Dering cried, with a harsh,
grating laugh and a penetrating glance that tried to pierce Dallas
through and through.

He answered simply:

“I do not know Miss Janowitz very well, having only met her twice at
crowded receptions; but I have a great esteem for her because she was
Daisie’s true friend, and tried to forward our love affair in many
ways.”

A strange light broke on Ray Dering’s mind, and he cried breathlessly:

“Explain!”

So Dallas told him the simple story Daisie had whispered to him, of
how she had tried to win him back to her by artless artifices, and
how Annette had helped her all she could by taking the letter she had
written up to Sea View.

“But I never received it, for I had gone away before, and it was a sad
mission for little Annette, for while returning through the grounds
at Sea View she was hit by a stray shot that nearly cost her her
life--poor girl!” he added.

“A stray shot!” murmured Dering.

“Yes; that was the story that Annette told the doctor and every one
else. Some believed her, and others doubted, declaring that out of her
noble heart she was shielding some one she would not betray,” said
Dallas, gazing straight at him with accusing eyes.

Ray Dering dropped his eyes, and groaned:

“You suspect me?”

“Yes, from your own admissions, your guilty looks, and words you have
whispered in restless dreams.”

“So she was true, after all--dear little Annette! True as steel to the
fiend that doubted her and even tried to kill her! And she would not
betray me! She kept that hideous secret of my crime. Oh, the matchless
constancy of woman!” cried Ray Dering; and, carried away by his keen
remorse, he confessed what he had done to Dallas, saying:

“When I heard her talking so anxiously about sending you that letter,
it made me wild, for I believed she was in love with you, and the
jealous devil in my nature prompted me to take her life. As soon as the
maid left the scene, I rushed upon Annette, uttered some wild words,
and fired straight at her tender young heart.”

“And you would have killed her but for the steel of her stays that
turned aside the bullet,” added Dallas.

“Thank God for that! Thank God that in my frenzy I was spared the crime
of murder! Oh, Heaven! To think how true, and sweet, and noble she is,
and that I have lost her forever!” groaned Dering.

Dallas could not help but pity him in his wild remorse, so he said:

“Perhaps she will make it up with you, since she has shown such a
forgiving spirit toward you. Shall I write to her for you?”

“Ah, Dallas Bain, you are heaping coals of fire on my head! You who
have been so good to me, who rescued me from that awful wreck, who have
so faithfully cared for me since. You do not guess what a fiend I have
been, and that--I tried also to murder you!”

“What!”

“Yes, I will confess all, and throw myself on your mercy. I thought
you had won Annette from me, and I swore to her I would kill you also.
It was my guilty hand that fired the shot that laid Royall Sherwood
low--but I thought it was you, Dallas Bain. I had followed you to Sea
View, but my brain was dulled with liquor, and I missed you somehow
when you went away. Then I thought I saw you walking in the grounds
with Annette, as I thought, and I fired recklessly, and escaped. Well,
the man is not dead yet, but if he dies I am his murderer, and you may
denounce me if you choose, for my life, by reason of my mistakes and
crimes, has become almost too great a burden to be borne.”

CHAPTER XXV.

MORE CRUEL THAN DEATH.

Dallas Bain was shocked into momentary silence by the revelation just
made to him.

He had not thought of connecting Ray Dering with the attempted murder
of Sherwood until this explanation made it clear to his mind.

And it did not give him a very pleasant feeling to know how narrowly
he had escaped death at the hands of an impetuous lover driven mad by
jealousy.

Had this been their first meeting he must have shrunk from Dering in
horror and repulsion.

But weeks of intimate companionship had shown him the real worth of the
young man’s nature, marred only by the jealous passion that had driven
him to crime. He knew that he was capable of noble things, understood
also that he was the victim of an undying remorse. His revenge had
recoiled upon himself, and the serpents of remorse were coiled in his
heart to sting him to death.

All this rushed over the mind of Dallas as he gazed at the pale,
handsome face and the somber, dark eyes, where the fires of remorse and
regret smoldered under the heavy lashes.

“You despise me!” exclaimed Ray Dering hoarsely. “Who can blame you? I,
for one, do not. I am even glad I told you, for it made me restless,
your kindness, when I knew I did not deserve it. I have sinned so
deeply against you that your goodness has heaped coals of fire upon my
head. I can only give you my miserable secrets, suspected by no one on
earth before, except Annette, and thank you before we part.”

He scarcely expected anything but reproof and desertion, and cowered
before the thought, for he had grown to love Dallas Bain, and coveted
his good opinion; but the manliness within him would not permit him to
claim it unworthily, so he bowed his head and waited sadly enough for
the end.

But into the mind of Dallas surged a great wave of pity.

Impulsively he held out his hand.

“I forgive you, my friend,” he said cordially.

“You call me your friend--you offer me your hand, Dallas Bain--after
what I have told you! Good heavens! I did not dream there was any man
so noble!” cried Ray Dering, choking with emotion as he received the
offered handclasp, adding: “I swear to you that this shall make a new
man of me. I will deserve this confidence by some great deed that will
condone the hateful past.”

Dallas Bain answered quietly:

“Your first step must be to control your jealous, fiery temper. He that
is ruler over his own spirit is greater than a king.”

“Ah, Dallas, I am cured of all that madness, believe me. My spirit
is crushed within me, and my remorse for the evil I have wrought is
almost greater than I can bear. Think of my poor little love, Annette,
unjustly accused and wounded, perhaps hating me in her heart, for
which, indeed, I could not blame her, but must agree that she is right.
Then, too, that poor fellow wounded unto death by my hand. Yet he never
did me any harm. What if he dies? I shall be a wretched murderer!”

“He will not die,” answered Dallas Bain.

“Not die! Thank the good God who has spared me that remorse! Then you
have heard from Gull Beach?”

“Not directly, but through the newspapers. Of course, a man as rich as
Royall Sherwood must get due attention from the press.”

“And I thank God again that he is going to get well.”

“Not well, Ray.”

“But you said so only a minute ago, didn’t you?” anxiously.

“I said he would not die.”

“But what did you mean, then?”

“This: That poor Royall Sherwood is doomed to such a fate that even I,
whom he has supplanted in Daisie’s heart; even I, whom he has robbed
of the dearest treasure on earth, can afford to pity him. He will be
a hopeless cripple for life. The shot in his back affected the spinal
column, so that from his waist down he is hopelessly paralyzed--a
lifelong wreck.”

“My God! And this was my fiendish work!” The man’s face sank on the
window sill, his strong frame shook with remorseful sobs that did not
shame his young manhood.

Dallas did not know how to offer any comfort in the face of this
remorse. The whole affair was, to him, very terrible.

He pitied Royall Sherwood with the greatness of a noble nature,
forgiving all his own wrongs because of the other’s affliction.

For it seemed to him that the young man’s affliction was more cruel
than death.

To have all the best gifts of life at command--youth, health, wealth,
love--and to be struck down like this at one fell blow into worse than
nothingness, to be looking into heaven, yet always lying outside the
beautiful gates. Ah, what refinement of cruelty, what living torture!

Of her--his lost love, his bonny Daisie--lured from him by a hideous
cheat, kept away by her pity and her sense of duty, a pitiful sacrifice
to a cruel plot, he scarce dared think. That way lay madness.

So he did not know how to offer comfort to the broken man before him,
crushed by remorse for his hideous sin.

“What must I do to atone?” groaned Ray. “Shall I go to him, confess my
crime, and offer him my service through life, to make up for his loss?”

“My poor fellow, I do not think you can make it up to him. It is too
great, and he will not need you. He is so rich he will not lack loving
service. No, your part is to bear your cross in patience and to lead
such a life hereafter that the blackness of past sins shall be blotted
out in refulgent light.”

“I swear I will--God helping me! And you believe in me?”

“Yes, and will try to help you to lead a new life. I am going to cross
the sea next week. Will you come with me as my guest? I did not tell
you I was English-born before--did I--though I have spent much time
in America, for my mother is a native of this land. Well, come with
me, and we will seek new scenes a while, to dull the pain in both our
hearts. You will? That’s a good fellow! Your hand on it, Ray; we are
true friends till death!”

CHAPTER XXVI.

EXPIATION.

The scene shifts from the quiet country under the low-hung October
skies to New York, in the following March, when the crisp snow covered
the ground, sparkling like jewels under the pallid electric lights.

“WANTED--A refined, educated, companionable gentleman as a
companion for an invalid. Liberal salary to a suitable person.
Apply at No. -- Fifth Avenue.”

A gentleman who read that want in an evening paper became so excited
over it that he canceled an engagement for the opera to present himself
that same evening at the Fifth Avenue mansion of the invalid.

The sleek servant who opened the door to him looked supercilious when
he heard his errand.

“Really, you should ’ave waited till the mornin’,” he said, trying to
hide an Irish brogue under an English accent. “Mrs. Sherwood is going
hout to the opera, and me master does not see strangers.”

Mrs. Sherwood at that moment was in the library, bidding her husband
good evening before she went out.

What a contrast there was between them--the man crouching there in his
low-wheeled chair, wasted and worn with illness and a tortured mind, a
helpless paralytic, and the beautiful bride in the bloom of youth and
health, gowned in white silk and lace, her golden hair an aureole about
her graceful head, the fire of diamonds girding her round white throat,
pale roses breathing out perfume against her breast.

“Gods! How beautiful you are, my Daisie!” breathed the man, with a
gesture of despair. “How I envy the men who will dance with you at the
ball to-night!”

She fluttered into a chair beside him, putting her hand on his arm
caressingly, as she cried:

“Then I will not go to the ball to-night. I will come home from the
opera.”

“You forget your guest, who has set her heart on this grand function,”
he replied, half longing to take her at her word.

“Why, Lutie will be glad to chaperon Annette, and bring her home after
the ball,” cried Daisie.

“But I know what Lutie would say--that I am a selfish wretch, and don’t
want my wife to go out and enjoy herself. Others will say the same.
And it is true, I know. I am jealous, and selfish, and wretched, and
miserable--oh, more miserable than words can tell!” wildly.

“Let me stay with you to-night, Royall, and charm away this gray mood.
Indeed, I’m not anxious about the opera. And you used to be happier,
didn’t you, when I stayed by you more, and didn’t go into society so
much?”

“Yes, yes; but Lutie said it was a shame, that the confinement was
breaking you down, and you were as pale as a lily and as patient as an
angel. No, no--I must not be selfish. You must not neglect your social
duties, as Lutie says.”

“Ah, there is the bell! She has come!” exclaimed Daisie, starting up,
for she and her friend were to be Mrs. Fleming’s guests at an opera
party that night.

“Tell Lutie to come in and show me her new gown,” Royall said, dreading
to be left to his loneliness.

Daisie swept out into the hall, where her obsequious maid was waiting
to throw the white opera cloak over her shoulders, and thus she
interrupted the colloquy between Patrick and the caller, catching
enough of the conversation to understand its import.

“Show the gentleman in, Patrick. I have time to see him,” she
exclaimed, leading the way to a reception room.

She saw that the caller was a very fine-looking man--young, tall,
handsome, clean-shaven, and wearing protecting glasses over penetrating
dark eyes.

“I am Reed Raymond, madam, and I called in answer to your ad in the
evening paper,” he said, with a very courtly bow.

“It is fortunate you came at this time, for my husband feels very
dull this evening,” she answered, adding: “It is for him a companion
is desired. He is a helpless cripple, who chafes always against his
fate, and I must own that at times he is a most irritable person. But
who could blame him--condemned to so sad an existence in the bloom of
manhood! What he needs is a bright, cheerful young man, cultured,
acquainted with the world.”

“I can furnish unexceptionable references from Lord Werter, with whom I
have traveled the past five months,” the handsome applicant assured the
lady.

“I think I will introduce you to--my husband, as he, after all, will
be the one to decide on your availability,” said Daisie, rising and
motioning the young man to come.

He bowed, and followed her into the hall, thinking to himself that she
was certainly the rarest beauty that had ever dawned on his horizon.

“How cruel to lose such a woman! No wonder!” he was thinking, when
his eyes were arrested by another vision of beauty, trailing down the
grand staircase toward him--no less a person than Annette Janowitz,
sparkling, radiant, in rose-pink satin and pearls.

“I am all ready, Daisie, dear!” she cried, in her musical young voice,
and the listener reeled backward against the wall, with his hand upon
his heart.

“Ah, what is the matter?” cried Daisie, in alarm.

Reed Raymond soon recovered himself, and answered, with a pallid smile:

“I beg pardon--it is nothing. I am--subject--to slight spasms of the
heart.”

And he staggered on with her into the library, not daring to glance
back at the radiant vision on the stairway, while he groaned to himself:

“Who would have thought of meeting her here? Yet now I remember that
Dallas Bain once told me she was Daisie Bell’s dearest friend.”

At that moment Mrs. Fleming entered, exclaiming:

“Well, girls, are you all ready?”

“’Sh-h, Mrs. Fleming! Daisie is taking a stranger into the library.”

“Who is he, Patrick?”

“He came to answer the ad for master’s companion, madam.”

“Come, Annette, let us follow, and see if he will suit Royall,” cried
the volatile little widow, snatching Annette’s hand and dragging her
along.

“Mrs. Fleming, Miss Janowitz, Mr. Raymond,” said Daisie, and they all
bowed formally, the gentleman standing at the back of Royall’s chair,
superb in manly dignity.

“Stunning!” whispered the widow to Annette. But the young girl had
grown suddenly very pale and still. She waited silently, her bosom
heaving under its pearls, her eyes downcast beneath their jetty
fringes, until Mrs. Fleming tittered:

“Well, we must be going, girls. Ta, ta, Royall; so glad you like my new
Paris gown. You must try to exist without Daisie a few hours, will you?”

He threw her a bitter smile, and Daisie waited to clasp his cold
hand and kiss his brow, heedless of the stranger’s presence, ere she
followed the others from the room.

Royall looked up at him, saying wildly:

“Is it not enough to make a man curse God to be the husband of so rare
a creature, yet a helpless cripple from his bridal hour?”

He saw the pale face of the stranger working with sympathy as he said
hoarsely:

“Do not curse God, but rather the dastard whose hand sent the blow.”

“Ah, you have heard?”

“Yes, it was in all the papers last year, you know. I have always felt
the strangest sympathy for you, and if I can brighten one lonely hour,
God knows I shall be glad.”

“I thank you. But do not think I am neglected. My wife has been all
devotion, only her health could not bear the strain. She had to have
some recreation, hence my wish for a companion. In fact, all three who
have just left me have been angelic in their ministrations. My cousin,
Mrs. Fleming, is untiring in her kindness. As for little Annette
Janowitz, my wife’s dear friend, she is the kindest-hearted girl in
the world. On the night I was shot she came to help Daisie and Lutie
nurse me. She was as kind as a sister. When the doctor said I would
live, she wept for joy. A week later, when the first hope of recovery
was wrecked by my sudden shock of paralysis, she was inconsolable. She
cried out that it must not be so, God would not be so cruel; and in her
excitability she almost went into hysterics. She remained for weeks,
and when her mother insisted on her coming home, we all missed her like
a dear little sister. But since then we have her often with us, and her
sympathy is very sweet and dear. She has been with us now a month, and
Daisie says she has become a great belle and has many lovers.”

“Does--she show--any preference for any?” Reed Raymond asked, in a
voice that was husky in spite of his efforts to make it careless.

“I do not know about that. But why are you standing all this while, my
dear fellow? Sit down, and let us be sociable. Will you smoke?” ringing
the bell. “Wine and cigars, Pierre,” to the attendant. “And now, do you
really think you want to be my companion?”

“I wish it, above all things, Mr. Sherwood. Stern necessity forces me
to apply for this place, and if you accept my services I shall do my
best to deserve your patronage, believe me.”

The strong, eager voice impressed Royall very favorably, as Raymond
hurried on:

“I have been a companion for Lord Werter several months, in fact,
traveled with him all over the world, arriving in New York only a few
days ago, and he permits me to refer you to him as to my reliability.”

“I should fancy that your position with him is more tempting than this
with me?” Royall asked tentatively.

“It was very pleasant. I am very fond of his lordship. But--I am weary
of travel, and he is a nomad. I am an American, too, and prefer to
settle down for a while in my native country,” Reed Raymond rejoined
eagerly, in his anxiety for favorable consideration.

In his keen remorse for the evil he had wrought in madness, in his
longing to expiate it, in so far as he could, by devotion to his
victim, Ray Dering had decided on this step, and nothing could turn him
aside from what he believed his duty.

By such disguise as the change of his name by a slight transposition,
the shaving off of his luxuriant dark hair, and the adoption of
eyeglasses, he felt himself safe from recognition by former friends,
and his winning manners at once secured him the boon he craved.

CHAPTER XXVII.

TO REMEMBER A LITTLE WHILE.

Mrs. Hill-Dixon, the famous society leader of New York, was so proud of
her titled cousin, Lord Werter, that she fastened him by metaphorical
chains to her triumphal car, and dragged her cynical victim
whithersoever she would.

It had been a little different in past days, when Dallas Bain paid
several visits to America.

Then he was only the earl’s younger son, destined for the army.

But when his elder and only brother was drowned in crossing the Channel
last year, and Dallas Bain succeeded to the title of Lord Werter, and
stood in direct succession to the earldom, oh, that was quite another
thing--yes, indeed.

Dallas must be fêted and lionized now, although he said frankly that it
went against the grain with him.

He might have told her as frankly that his good looks had won enough
adulation from women already, and that he did not care for the surfeit
he would have now with his title and prospects added, but he did not
wish to seem conceited. It was easier to give her her way for a few
days, then to slip away when he grew too weary of the passing show.

But the second day after his arrival, when she was talking about the
social queens, and mentioned Mrs. Royall Sherwood, he betrayed a sudden
interest.

“The most beautiful and winning girl society has seen in years,” she
said. “But at first some would have liked to put her down, you know,
because she was only a poor girl--a New York teacher--though she looks
like she was born to the purple. But, of course, her marriage to a
Sherwood changed all that. And, really, Lutie Fleming stood by her
grandly, and directly made her the fashion. I never liked the little
widow, I own; but she has the true Sherwood grit, and never gives up
what she sets her mind on. They say she helped Royall in his love
affair, and he married the girl at her summer home down in Maryland
last August. There was an awful tragedy about the case, you see,
because Royall was shot in the grounds on his wedding night, by a
jealous rival, it is supposed, though it never could be traced directly
to him. Well, the young husband did not die; but he had better, for he
has been paralyzed ever since, waist downward, and lives in a roller
chair.”

Dallas said huskily:

“And the bride’s devotion--did it outlive his affliction?”

“Why, they say that she is quite touching in her tenderness, and did
not leave him at all for months until her health failed under the
strain. So they made her go out with the widow, and she seems very gay,
only there is something in her face at times--in repose, you know--that
hints at secret grief. And, no wonder, with her husband struck down,
almost the same as dead, on their bridal night, and she, poor girl!
wedded, but a maiden wife, watching his slow descent into the grave,
with what torture who can tell!”

“But must he die? Can he never recover?”

“It is supposed not. Poor fellow, it is such a shame! He used to be one
of the best dancers in New York.”

“Yes?”

“You will see his wife to-night, if you come with me to see Calvé.
Mrs. Fleming will have a box party that includes Daisie Sherwood and
her guest, Miss Janowitz; and we will meet them at the Morton ball
afterward, for they told me they were coming.”

Lord Werter resolved at first that he would not attend either of these
functions, not caring to renew the impression Daisie made on him first
under the drooping wistarias--that picture that was graven on his heart.

He hoped that time was effacing it now, since she was another’s wife;
but insensibly there grew on him a wild longing to see her again.

He explained it to himself on the score of curiosity as to how she
would look in the garb of wealth and fashion--beautiful Daisie, who had
been irresistible in the simple white gown with lavender ribbons.

So he went with his cousin to hear Calvé, and in the opposite box he
saw his old love sitting--Daisie, in her white silk and misty lace and
costly jewels, and that crown of golden hair--golden hair that had once
lain on his breast, in that time that seemed so far away. And people
kept going in and out of the box to speak to the three beauties; but
he saw quickly that she attracted always the most admiration. She must
enjoy it, too; for her face wore the most enchanting smiles, as if no
care disturbed her mind.

“Yet she pretended that it grieved her to give me up. Was it not true?
Has she forgotten so soon? Is she happy?” he mused angrily.

In his heart he was bitterly angry that she could be happy without him,
though that was selfishness, he knew.

By and by he saw Mrs. Fleming looking over at their box, and the start
she gave as she recognized him.

“Who is the young man in the box with Mrs. Hill-Dixon?”

“Her cousin, Lord Werter, a regular swell,” he replied.

Annette Janowitz brought her opera glass into play, exclaiming:

“What! a real live lord? Let me have a good look at him. Oh, dear me;
he’s the living image of Dallas Bain! Do look, Daisie!”

Daisie looked, and Dallas met her glance and waited for recognition,
but none came; and he could not see how pale she grew as her eyes
wavered and fell.

“Snubbed!” he said to himself indignantly; and it aroused the keenest
anger in his breast. What had he done, that neither of the three would
recognize him?

And, to add to his injury, Daisie never even looked at him again,
though the eyes of the other two strayed to him often in wonder at his
likeness to one they had known in the past.

He wondered cynically if Mrs. Fleming had got over her fancy for him as
easily as Daisie seemed to have done.

“I will go to the Morton ball and see,” he resolved, in a spirit of
audacity.

So, when the opera was over and they were in the crush of the ball, he
asked the hostess for an introduction to Mrs. Fleming, and the little
blonde beamed with delight when he asked her to dance.

“Lord Werter, I could not keep my eyes off you at the opera. You must
have noticed it, and thought it strange. But I was almost certain you
were an old friend of mine named Dallas Bain. When Major Mays told me
your name, I could hardly believe it,” she twittered.

So that explained her failure to bow? It lifted something from his
heart; but he took a whim not to undeceive her yet, not to own his
identity, to masquerade under his new splendor.

So he danced with the gay little widow, but his eyes wandered often to
Daisie, who was Major Mays’ partner, and danced divinely. It vexed him
that she would not even look at him, though she might have done that
much for the sake of the likeness to her old love.

“She is heartless. Prosperity has spoiled her,” he thought bitterly, as
he leaned against the wall and watched the clear-cut, smiling face so
fair and flowerlike.

He felt as if he hated her for forgetting so soon.

“She might have done me that poor grace, to remember a little while,”
he muttered, in his pain.

Then it came to him what his cousin had said, that though she seemed to
be gay, there was sometimes a strange sadness on her lovely face.

“Perhaps it is for me. She is playing a part, as I am,” he thought,
with a quickened heart throb.

Mrs. Fleming made herself just as charming as she knew how; but she
could not help seeing how his gaze wandered, and she exclaimed, with
something like pique:

“The lady you are looking at is my cousin, Mrs. Royall Sherwood. Would
you like to be presented?”

“Yes, thank you,” he replied, although he knew it was not wise to risk
it. His heartache was too keen already.

Mrs. Fleming was secretly piqued, for she had fallen in love with Lord
Werter as madly as she had loved Dallas Bain, and was determined to
marry him if she could.

But she did not dread Daisie as a rival, for she knew the girl was
too pure and honest to flirt, so when the dance was over she led the
handsome young nobleman over, and presented him to her cousin.

Daisie had been watching them furtively, and she was sure in her heart
that it was Dallas Bain.

Why, then, was he masquerading under a title?

Her heart grew hot within her as she thought of the indignity he had
put upon her in his elopement with Mrs. Fleming’s silly maid, Letty.

CHAPTER XXVIII.

“A SHOCKING LITTLE FLIRT.”

Daisie saw them coming, and braced herself for the _rencontre_. She was
determined he should not see her flinch.

Stately as a young princess, and cold as ice, she received him, and
he could not but admire her perfect self-poise and grace, though he
wondered at such a reception.

“She knows me--her heart is not deceived. Then why not give me a kinder
welcome?” he thought, not knowing of the false stories she had been
told to turn her heart against him.

As for Daisie, she was thinking under her cold, proud smile:

“Where is Letty? Did he really marry her? And why is he masquerading
under a false title?”

Fortunately for the embarrassment of the occasion, Annette’s partner
brought her back at that moment to her chaperons, and Mrs. Fleming,
with an air of proprietorship, presented Lord Werter.

Annette flashed her great black eyes at him with so friendly a smile
that he took refuge with her at once from the hauteur of Daisie’s
manner.

“Will you dance with me?” he asked; and the gay little brunette, seeing
a chance to tease the jealous little widow, replied carelessly:

“Oh, dear, no; I’ve almost danced my slippers off already. But I’ll sit
out the next waltz with you in the conservatory.”

He gave her his arm, bowed to the other two, and led her away.

“Shocking little flirt!” Mrs. Fleming exclaimed sharply to Daisie.

“Oh, no; she is only tired, I suppose,” generously.

“You are looking tired yourself, my dear, and as pale as if you had
seen a ghost. It is wonderful, is it not, that man’s likeness to Dallas
Bain?”

“Yes.”

“But we had better not mention it to Royall, poor fellow; for I think
he is still jealous of the very memory of Dallas Bain.”

“He need not be!” Daisie cried, with a flash of spirit. “My husband
need never be jealous of the man who could stoop to elope with your
maid!”

But she knew that her whole soul was shaken to its depths by this
_rencontre_. Oh, those dark, dark eyes, how their glance could wound
and dazzle still! How that smile could thrill her very soul!

Mrs. Fleming looked at her curiously, and smiled.

“I’m glad you have learned to despise him! Of course, he wasn’t worth a
thought of yours; and it was fortunate you married Royall and escaped
him, wasn’t it? I wonder what became of him, though, and if he really
married Letty.”

“The subject is not worth discussing,” Daisie returned, with her
loftiest air.

Meanwhile, Annette, sitting out the waltz in the cool, odorous
conservatory with her elegant partner, exclaimed artlessly:

“Do you know it gave us all quite a start when we saw you to-night
at the opera? You are so like a gentleman we met at Gull Beach last
summer.”

“Mrs. Fleming has been telling me the same thing, and I am very curious
over my double. Tell me about him, do,” said Lord Werter, fixing his
large, magnetic, dark eyes on her brilliant face, and smiling his most
persuasive smile.

Annette played with her fan in sudden embarrassment.

“I am very curious to hear about my double,” repeated Lord Werter; and
then she blurted out:

“It will not flatter you to hear the truth about Dallas Bain. He--he
turned out badly.”

“Indeed? What did he do?”

“Why, he--he eloped with Mrs. Fleming’s maid, a pert little wretch,
and--and Daisie and I had to help her do up her hair for a week before
she got another girl to suit.”

“Miss Janowitz!”

Lord Werter’s voice was so stern it made her tremble.

“Do you realize what you are saying about Dallas Bain?”

“Oh, yes; it’s the honest truth, Lord Werter. He was Mrs. Fleming’s
guest, and flirted with the maid. And on the night Daisie married Mr.
Sherwood he eloped with Letty Green. Oh, yes; it’s true. They were seen
to board the New York train just before daylight. Besides, the girl
left a note to her old beau, a servant at Sea View, confessing the
truth, and saying Mr. Bain was going to marry her in New York. So, you
see, your double was no credit to you, and----Why, Lord Werter, are
you angry at my nonsense, or are you ill? Your face is as pale as a
dead man’s, and your eyes are like fire. What is the matter with you?”

CHAPTER XXIX.

“FOR DAISIE’S SAKE.”

It was no wonder that Annette cried out in alarm, for a most startling
change had come over the handsome face of Lord Werter.

His splendid dark eyes fairly blazed with indignation, and his face
went death-white, while his whole frame trembled with emotion.

“You have told me a most startling story,” he said hoarsely.

“Yes; but I did not expect that it would affect a stranger so greatly,”
the young girl returned significantly.

He looked searchingly at her, and answered slowly:

“You suspect me?”

“Yes--by your emotion--of being Dallas Bain himself,” she returned
frankly.

“You are right, Miss Janowitz. I am that much-wronged and slandered
man!”

“Then why this masquerade--this title?” she inquired dubiously.

“The title belongs to me,” he said briefly, explaining everything.

“I am very much surprised,” she owned; adding: “Royall Sherwood tried
to make every one believe you were a nobody.”

“That was my fault. Just for a whim, I kept up a mystery over my past,
and, of course, he thought I had something to hide. Then I fell in love
with Daisie Bell and wanted to win her on my own merits.”

“And you did. She loved you madly!” cried Annette, but she added: “It
nearly broke her heart, I know, when you ran away with Letty Green.”

“But I did not run away with Letty Green. There is some terrible
mistake here. It is not possible that she--that Daisie--believed it?”

“There was no room for doubt,” said Annette; and, between eager
questions and answers, he presently knew the whole story of that
night and day, whose adverse influences had goaded Daisie Bell into
acquiescence with the fate that had made her Royall Sherwood’s wife.

Then he told his own story of the letter Daisie had sent him that night
by the maid.

“She did not send that letter,” Annette assured him; and he said, with
bitter anger:

“Then we were both the victims of a dastardly plot. Who was the
instigator?”

“I cannot tell. Of course, Royall Sherwood was much benefited by it;
but in his almost dying condition it was not possible for him to carry
it out.”

They looked at each other silently a moment, then Dallas said, with
conviction:

“I have heard that his loving cousin, Mrs. Fleming, helped him with his
marriage. Doubtless this was her way.”

“I do not know for certain; but I believe that you are right,”
acquiesced the young girl; but she added: “Daisie stood firm against
everything until Royall had that sinking spell, and even the doctor
believed he was dying. Then she yielded for pity’s sake. We all
persuaded her, I don’t deny it. But I always stood your friend until
that night.”

“I know that, and I thank you,” he said; and was rising when she put
out her hand to arrest him.

“Where are you going?”

“To Daisie--to tell her the truth,” his eyes flashing.

“Oh, for pity’s sake!” she cried, seizing his arm, and gently forcing
him back into his seat.

He paused, reluctantly saying:

“But I shall not make a scene. I shall tell her quietly, before that
wicked woman’s face, how we both have been deceived.”

“You must not!”

“Miss Janowitz!”

Annette’s face became like a rose at his angry exclamation, but she
repeated again, low and firmly:

“You must not!”

“I say that I will!” the angry young man exclaimed, endeavoring to go;
but he could not break away without rudeness from the white, jeweled
hand that grasped his arm.

“Wait! Let us talk it over first!” entreated the girl, and most
unwillingly he assented, for he was wild with anger, and eager to
remove from Daisie’s mind the false impression that had turned her
heart against him.

Annette’s first words fell like ice on his burning heart:

“What is to be gained by telling poor Daisie the truth? She is already
Royall Sherwood’s wife. Nothing can alter that.”

It was true, and the realization of it forced a stifled groan from his
pallid lips.

The majority of people thought that Annette Janowitz was only a pretty,
frivolous girl, with not an idea in her head beyond dressing and
flirting; but she showed herself to be very sensible in her advice to
the angry lover.

Still grasping him lest he should escape her, she continued eagerly:

“I want you to consider Daisie now, and not yourself. She believes now
that you are a wretch, unworthy her love and confidence.”

“She shall not think so long!” he groaned.

“But yes, she shall; for, Lord Werter, it would but make our poor
Daisie more unhappy to tell her the truth.”

He did not answer, only looked incredulous, and she hurried on:

“I will tell you the truth, for it is your due. Daisie is bitterly
unhappy--yes, I know it, for I am her confidante--and her only comfort
is in feeling that she acted for the best in everything; that she
saved Royall’s life by staying with him, and that she had a lucky
escape in not marrying such a wretch as you are supposed to be.”

Again he groaned in bitterness of soul, and Annette added:

“If she learned the cruel truth--that she was duped into the marriage,
and that you were loyal all the while--I believe that her heart would
break with the agony of the knowledge.”

“My poor lost love!” he sighed; and his grief for her seemed even
greater than his own.

He remembered how dearly she had loved him, how she had clung to him
the night of their parting. And the cruel woman whose prattling had
forced them asunder, he cursed her in his heart.

“If you could see Royall Sherwood, who won her from you, in the
desolation and hopelessness of his life, in his secret, jealous pain
over Daisie, I believe you could find it in your heart to pity him,”
exclaimed Annette, with tears in her brilliant eyes.

“I do pity him,” he answered.

“Then have mercy on him and on her--the girl you love. Keep this
miserable secret, that could but add to their misery, and leave them
in peace!” she implored.

“And forego revenge on that scheming woman?” he cried wrathfully.

“Yes; for both their sakes. Some day, when he is dead, poor
fellow!”--she shuddered as with a chill--“let the truth come out, take
Daisie, and be happy.”

“I am not waiting for dead men’s shoes; and he may live to be an old
man.”

“You would not think so, if you could see what a wreck he is--so wasted
and worn that you would scarcely know him again.”

“You seem to have a great sympathy for him,” Lord Werter said, guessing
perhaps at its source, from what Ray Dering had told him.

“Yes,” Annette answered, and her lips trembled with the sob that ached
in her throat for the poor victim of her lover’s jealous wrath.

“Oh,” she thought distressfully, “he is to blame for the misery of all
these lives. How will he ever atone to offended Heaven?”

Suddenly she realized that she had been monopolizing Lord Werter for
more than an hour, and that people would be thinking she was a most
outrageous flirt.

“I dare not detain you longer!” she exclaimed. “But how can I let you
go without your promise of silence--for Daisie’s sake?”

“It almost seems to me that it would make her happier to know that I
was true and loyal all the while,” he answered bravely.

“No, no; it could but torture her with a hopeless regret. It were
wiser, better to keep her in the dark. ‘Where ignorance is bliss, ’tis
folly to be wise.’”

“You are a woman. You should know best,” said Lord Werter, with a
mirthless smile of consent; and she exclaimed gladly:

“You consent--you promise?”

“Yes--for Daisie’s sake.”

The despair in his face and voice made her kind heart ache, and she
murmured:

“Thank you, and may God bless you. I know you will never regret this
promise.”

“I am not so sure of that,” he answered, sighing; though he added: “But
my word is given, and the motto of our house is _Toujours fidèle_.”

She rose and took his arm.

“I must go back to my chaperon now. I dare say Mrs. Fleming will scold
me for monopolizing the lion of the hour.”

“And must I--be civil to that woman?” he exclaimed, with a man’s horror
of duplicity.

“Yes; you must be very clever, and not let her know I have betrayed
her--especially do not let her trap you into an admission of your
identity,” cautioned Annette anxiously.

“I will not,” he promised; and, emboldened by success, she added:

“And I hope you will be going away from New York soon. It would be very
embarrassing to have you about long.”

But to her dismay Lord Werter replied gravely:

“I shall not promise you that, my little friend, for now that I know
Daisie Bell was true to me, I shall like to remain near her for a
little while to gladden my eyes with a sight of her beauty. And to do
this I shall wish to be very friendly with you, Miss Janowitz, so that
I may sometimes call on you at Mrs. Sherwood’s house.”

“Oh, but that would be very wrong. Please do not!” she exclaimed. But
all her entreaties were of no use.

“You may trust my honor that she shall not find me out!” was all he
would say.

When he led her back to Daisie, Mrs. Fleming was dancing, and he was
glad he did not have to encounter the wicked little schemer yet until
he was calmer and could act the part he had set for himself.

How his heart thrilled as he met the gaze of Daisie again, and he gave
her such a penetrating look that she blushed in confusion! Poor Daisie,
who could not help her heart from beating faster, though her manner to
him was cold as ice.

They went home presently, and Annette soon found from Mrs. Fleming’s
manner that she was both angry and jealous because of her long stay in
the conservatory. This only amused her, and she said saucily:

“Really, I couldn’t get away any sooner! I declare, I have made
quite an impression on his lordship, and he is going to call on me
to-morrow!”

CHAPTER XXX.

REMORSE AND REPENTANCE.

It is quite safe to say that Annette’s slumbers after the ball were not
very peaceful. The startling events of the evening banished repose.

For one thing, she had instantly recognized in Mr. Sherwood’s
companion, Reed Raymond, her old lover, Ray Dering.

She was at a loss to know why he had entered the house on that footing,
and she leaped to the angry conclusion that in his mad jealousy of her
he had done so to spy upon her actions.

Anger and resentment filled her outraged heart, and she determined to
seek an interview with him on the morrow, and threaten to denounce him
to his victim unless he took leave.

Then, too, the reappearance of Dallas Bain upon the scene filled her
with anxiety.

The startling discovery of the mysterious plot to separate Dallas and
Daisie filled her with dismay when she contemplated what effect it
would produce if it became known to the latter.

That the young girl was already most unhappy, she knew. She doubted not
the knowledge of the truth would drive her to despair.

She was certain that it would cause an unalienable rupture between
Daisie and Mrs. Fleming, and what part in it Royall Sherwood must
play she could not conjecture. That it could only result in added
unhappiness to the wedded pair she knew.

So she had done what she believed the wisest thing in persuading Lord
Werter to suffer his wrongs in silence for his old love’s sake.

But the failure of her effort to get him to leave New York filled her
with alarm.

While he remained there and chose to seek the society of the girl he
loved, and of whom he had been so cruelly cheated, she could not tell
what would happen.

But Lord Werter was obdurate in his refusal to go, and she could not
force his obedience.

“Oh, what a muddle it all is! I do not know where to turn for comfort!”
sobbed the poor girl; and her pillow was wet with tears when she sank
into troubled sleep, so that her eyes were heavy and her cheek pale
when she entered the breakfast room next morning.

She found Daisie and Mr. Sherwood, with his new companion, already
waiting; but as the latter was entertaining them with some witty
narration of an event of foreign travel, they did not seem impatient.

She bowed a subdued good morning to all, and was very quiet when they
took their places at the table with Reed Raymond for her vis-à-vis.

She did not speak to him, did not notice him, and he comprehended with
trouble that he was recognized.

“What does she mean to do? That icy demeanor is ominous and
threatening. Oh, if I had guessed she was here I should never have
presented myself under this roof,” he thought, with alarm, and just
then Royall Sherwood exclaimed banteringly:

“Why so pensive this morning, Annette?”

She colored deeply, and Daisie smiled and exclaimed:

“Doubtless she is thinking of the grand conquest she made last
night--the new social lion, Lord Werter.”

Royall gave a start of surprise, and looked at his companion, saying:

“Lord Werter! Is not that the name of the gentleman you were with
abroad?”

“Yes, for nearly five months, and we returned together but a few days
ago.”

Annette had another surprise, so great that she almost fell out of her
chair. Ray Dering, the companion for five months of Dallas Bain, whom
in his jealousy he had sworn to kill! What could it mean?

In her surprise she could not help flashing him one swift look of
wonder, and caught, in return, through the young man’s glasses, a look
of such sorrowful deprecation that she was more and more mystified.

Royall’s spirits seemed brighter than usual this morning, perhaps owing
to the cheerful influence of his new friend, and as he trifled with the
dainty viands on his plate, he kept up the conversation with Annette,
plying her with questions about her conquest.

“Is he handsome, Annette?”

“Oh, yes--in a dark and stately style,” she replied.

“And you think you have made an impression on his heart?”

Annette blushed again, and Daisie, who seemed quite gay this morning,
interposed:

“If you had been there you would have thought so. They were together
an hour or more in the conservatory, and Lutie and all the other women
were madly jealous.”

“Lord Werter is a prize worth winning,” Reed Raymond remarked, joining
in the conversation. “For himself alone any woman might love him, for
his nature is most noble and winning, and his standard of honor the
highest. His rent roll is twenty thousand a year, and his accession to
the earldom when his father dies will make him one of the wealthiest
peers in the realm.”

Daisie listened with even more astonishment than Annette.

Could these statements be true?

Then surely she had made a mistake in suspecting that the handsome
nobleman was Dallas Bain himself, masquerading under a spurious title.

Yes, she had made a grave mistake, and acted almost rudely toward Lord
Werter, under the angry assumption that he was her old lover, the
unworthy Dallas Bain.

She crimsoned with mortification at the remembrance of her icy hauteur
to the unconscious young man, and resolved to make amends by real
cordiality when he came to call on Annette.

Royall Sherwood also chimed in:

“I am so interested in this wonderful Lord Werter that I intend to
be present when he calls on Annette, so that I may cultivate his
acquaintance.”

Annette’s fluttering heart sank to the heels of her little French
slippers as she thought:

“Heaven forbid the acquaintance! For he could scarcely help from
recognizing his old rival. And what then?”

Poor Annette’s thoughts were nothing but a jumble of what thens; for
all her recently acquired knowledge made her heart very heavy.

Perhaps Reed Raymond also felt rather alarmed at the prospect of
Lord Werter’s call, but he made no sign. He could only trust to the
discretion of Dallas Bain, and he did not believe it would fail him in
his hour of need.

As was usual in the household, Daisie spent the hour after breakfast
alone with her husband in a pleasant morning room, giving him an
account of her evening’s pleasures, so Annette braced herself to “have
it out,” as she phrased it, at once with the offending companion.

When breakfast was over she assumed a saucy air to mislead her
companions, and exclaimed:

“Mr. Raymond, I wonder if you are a good accompanist. I want to try
some new songs this morning; but Mr. Sherwood will monopolize his wife
for several hours, so I must beg you to become her substitute.”

“I am at your service, Miss Janowitz,” he replied, with a slight tremor
in his rich voice, and followed her to the music room.

Royall smiled at his wife, and said:

“She will soon have him in her toils, the little siren!”

Then the valet came to wheel him into the morning room for the precious
hour with Daisie; and while she tells him of last night’s pleasures,
and asks him if he spent a comfortable night, and if he is not greatly
pleased with Mr. Raymond, we will follow the other couple to their
interview in the music room.

Annette kept up the pretense of her request at first, and soon Daisie
and Royall heard their voices chiming very sweetly together in one of
the latest songs of the day--not a sentimental one, though, for at
first she could not trust herself to that.

It made her heart ache to hear their voices mingling together so
sweetly, as in old days when they had been true lovers, ere his jealous
madness parted them forever, and she wondered how he felt over this
strange meeting--this singing, that was just a farce to lead up to
something serious.

Yet it was perilously sweet to her heart, although she told herself she
hated him for that little crimson scar on her white breast, the witness
of his attempted crime. It was not his fault that she was alive this
moment, instead of lying in a grassy little grave with “Annette, _ætat_
18,” carved on the marble above her dreamless head.

With that thought, Annette steeled her heart, that had been softening
in spite of her anger, and suddenly exclaimed:

“I know you, Ray Dering, and my asking you to accompany me in my songs
was just a pretext to secure an interview with you. Now that we have
fooled the others, we can talk a while.”

His white hands fell with a crash from the piano keys, and he was about
to spring up; but she added:

“Sit still; it will look more natural thus if any one comes in. I can
stand here and say what I wish.”

His handsome face whitened and his glance sought hers, full of remorse
and pain as he cried:

“Annette, there is but one word I can say to you all my life long
hereafter, and that is, ‘Forgive! forgive!’”

“And you would say it in vain!” she breathed stormily. “Do you think I
can forgive you that you tried to kill me? Or, if I could forgive that,
since I was fortunate enough to escape your murderous fury, could I
forgive you for the blighting of Royall Sherwood’s life?”

He shrank before the lightnings of her glance, and muttered:

“How dare you accuse me?”

But she answered undauntedly:

“Do you think I did not guess the truth--that you made a mistake, and
wreaked your fury on Royall Sherwood instead of Dallas Bain, of whom
you were mistakenly jealous? Remember, you had threatened me you would
kill him.”

He made no answer, and the sorrowful droop of his dark head attested
his remorse and repentance.

She continued bitterly:

“What I wish to ask you is, why did you thrust yourself into this home,
whose inmates would shrink from you in loathing did they guess the
fatal truth? Was it to spy upon my actions? How dare you, when you are
nothing to me--nothing but an abhorred memory I would fain banish!”

“I did not know you were here, Annette, or I should never have presumed
to enter the house, believe me,” he murmured, low and deprecatingly,
his very soul reeling before her wrath and scorn.

Had she ever dreamed of seeing that dark head, once so proud and erect,
bowed so low with shame and sorrow and repentance? It touched her even
in her anger, and she said, a shade more gently:

“Then why are you here at all? Can it be a pleasure to you to look on
the suffering you have caused?”

“A pleasure! Oh, God!” and his husky voice almost broke as he
continued: “Let me speak; let me tell you my real motive, and then you
will see that I am not quite a fiend!”

Without waiting for her permission, he went on with his reasons in such
an eloquent voice that she could not doubt his truth.

“Do you think it does not stab me to the heart to look on my accursed
work? Do you think I am so vile I cannot repent and wish to expiate the
deed by a life’s devotion? Yes, I am a changed man, Annette. My former
madness would not be possible to me now. I am a crushed and broken man,
sin-stricken, sorrowful, repentant. I wish to devote my life to Royall
Sherwood, so as to alleviate as far as possible the sufferings I have
caused. Could remorse and repentance further go? I ask nothing of you
or any one but the privilege to remain near him and give up the best
that is in me for his comfort. Will you grant me that longed-for boon?”

“Yes,” she murmured, very low; then added: “But you and I, Ray Dering,
must meet hereafter as the careless strangers we appear to our
friends.”

“Oh, yes; I understand all that. I shall not presume, believe me,
although,” with stifled bitterness, “there might be women tender enough
to forgive even such sins as mine when a man was driven mad by love of
them.”

“I am not one of them,” Annette answered, with cruel frankness. “You
were not worthy of my love; you distrusted it, and now it lies cold and
dead in my bosom, never to awake again!”

“I deserve your contempt and scorn. I cannot resent it,” he answered
humbly; adding: “And you were noble enough to keep my secret. It was
great in you. Let me thank you.”

“I did it because--I had loved you once!” she murmured, hastily leaving
him to his own unpleasant reflections.

CHAPTER XXXI.

THE CRUEL TRUTH.

That afternoon the sun came out as bright and warm as in April, and
tempted Daisie and Annette to go out for a spin on their bicycles.

“And let us call for Lutie. Perhaps she will like to join us,” said
Daisie, who had grown almost fond of the deceitful little widow who had
chosen to be very kind to her since her treachery had succeeded so well.

As they pedaled along on their shining wheels, both so beautiful,
though as different as night and morning in their dark and light types,
they attracted much attention and admiration; but their thoughts were
too busy with recent events to notice it. Daisie seemed to be charmed
over the knowledge that her afflicted husband had secured so suitable a
companion.

“He will have no more lonely hours now, with this delightful man to
amuse him. Oh, what a burden it lifts from my mind!” she cried gladly.

“Are you learning to love Royall at last, Daisie?” exclaimed Annette.

The dark-blue eyes turned a sweet, sad gaze on the other’s face.

“I love Royall as a friend or a brother--that is all; but I pity him
so--I pity him so!” she sighed.

“Perhaps, if he should grow strong and well, some time you might learn
to love him as a husband?”

A sudden pallor drifted over the blooming face, flushed by the exercise
of wheeling.

“I--I--am afraid not,” Daisie answered sadly; adding: “Oh, Annette, all
my love was given once, and thrown back upon my heart! After such a
shock I can never love again.”

And her thoughts flew back in anguish to that night when she had been
so cruelly sundered from Dallas Bain by the plotting of Royall and his
cousin--plotting that she never could have forgiven had it not been
proved to her afterward that Dallas Bain was unworthy of her love.

Oh, the bitterness of that knowledge! Could she ever forget the anguish
of the first days after she woke to the truth--the crushing struggle
between love and pride--the humiliation of knowing that he had
deserted her for silly, chattering Letty, Mrs. Fleming’s servant?

Suddenly she gave such a start that she nearly lost her balance on the
wheel.

As they wheeled around the corner, toward Mrs. Fleming’s elegant
brownstone mansion, they came face to face with a man loitering on the
corner as if waiting for some one, and--the man was James Cullen!

Yes, it was Mrs. Fleming’s old servant, whom no one had heard of since
he left Sea View, swearing that he would find Letty and her lover, and
kill them both.

Impulsively Daisie flung herself from her wheel, Annette following her
example, and beckoned the man to approach.

He slouched toward them sullenly, looking as if he had far rather run
away. He was well dressed, in a loud, flashy style, with rings on his
stubby fingers, and a thick gold watch chain ostentatiously paraded
across his plaid vest.

“How do you do, Cullen? I’m glad to find you looking so prosperous.
Did--did--you ever find Letty Green?” demanded Daisie breathlessly.

Cullen turned red and pale by turns, and shuffled his feet confusedly,
giving a rapid, furtive glance down the street toward Mrs. Fleming’s
mansion; then he blurted out eagerly:

“No, madame; I swear I’ve never caught up with the little baggage yit!”

With that, he turned quickly from them, and hurried around the corner,
losing himself in the crowds on Fifth Avenue.

“The man looked as if he were lying!” exclaimed Annette, as they
remounted their wheels.

A few more turns brought them to the widow’s house, and, to their
amazement, they saw Letty Green coming down the marble steps, gayly
dressed, and looking quite as prosperous as Cullen, a look of
satisfaction on her pert little face.

Daisie and Annette looked at each other with a vague suspicion in their
eyes, and the latter cried, in a troubled voice:

“Don’t let us speak to the girl--oh, don’t!”

But again Daisie sprang from her wheel in front of the approaching
girl, exclaiming sharply:

“Stop, Letty Green, I wish to speak to you!”

Letty paused, with an insolent smile, and swept them both a curtsy.

“I’m sure I’m glad to see you again, Mrs. Sherwood and Miss Janowitz.”

Daisie spoke again, and a strange impulse made her exclaim coolly:

“Letty, we saw Cullen waiting for you at the corner. So you married
him, after all?”

Imposed on by the quietly assertive tone, and supposing Cullen had
confessed the truth, Letty answered falteringly:

“Yes, madam.”

“And,” pursued Daisie gaspingly, her face death-white,
“perhaps--perhaps--you didn’t elope with Mr. Bain--after all.
It--it--was a lie you wrote to Cullen, was it not?”

“Come away, Daisie,” pleaded Annette; but she shook off the gentle hand
impatiently.

“Answer me,” she said imploringly, to Letty, a wild hope springing in
her tortured heart. “Did you go away with--him--or not?”

The girl hung her head in shame, and muttered defiantly:

“Yes, madam, I did elope with Mr. Bain. I can’t deny the truth.”

But falsehood was written on her face and in her eyes that she dare
not uplift to the girl she had wronged.

Daisie cried bitterly:

“Then where is he now? Why are you with Cullen instead of----” Her
voice broke with emotion, and the crafty Letty rejoined meekly:

“Oh, Mrs. Sherwood, can’t you understand? He--that Dallas Bain, was
a--betrayer of innocence! After he persuaded me to go away he wouldn’t
marry me. He got tired of me in a month, and then he disappeared, the
wretch! Then I was starving--I tried to find him, but I could not, and
I was going to drown myself when I chanced to meet Cullen, who had
come to the city to look for me--to kill me, as he said. But my misery
melted his heart. He forgave me, and agreed to make an honest woman of
me if I would behave myself. So I married him, the good, kind soul,
and--oh, there he is waiting for me now. Excuse me, ladies;” and Letty
darted away to join her husband, who had sneaked back to the corner.

Annette felt like a criminal before her friend that she did not cry
out that Letty’s story was a falsehood, that Dallas Bain was true and
good, and that his sweetheart had been lured away from him by the most
dastardly plot in the world.

She could have wept as she saw the white agony of Daisie’s face--poor
Daisie, whose springing hopes had been so cruelly dashed to earth
again, for it did not occur to her to cast doubt on Letty’s specious
story.

But again Annette said to herself that in this case ignorance was
bliss. She dare not speak, for Daisie’s own sake.

But she put her arm around the girl’s trembling form and supported her
up the steps.

“Oh, my poor dear, you are almost fainting! I wish you had not spoken
to that hussy!” she lamented.

Mrs. Fleming was startled at the pallor of her visitor, and exclaimed:

“You have had an accident?”

“No; she has seen Cullen and his wife, Letty, outside your door,”
explained Annette, as she held Daisie’s head against her breast and
patted her cold cheek.

Mrs. Fleming rang for wine, and helped Annette to fuss over agitated
Daisie.

“No wonder she is unnerved, poor child!” she said. “I suppose they
told you their romantic story--that Mr. Bain deserted Letty, and Cullen
found her about to drown herself, and married her offhand. Well, this
is the second time that they have come here begging to be taken back
into my service. Of course, I refused, although they were very good
help when I had them. But I knew Daisie would not wish to see them
about. Drink a little of this wine, dear, it will help you. Now, tell
me how Royall likes his new companion. Finds him charming, does he? I
am very glad of that. He is very handsome and distinguished-looking, is
he not? Do you know there is something familiar about him, as if I had
seen him before? And it almost seems to me it was at Gull Beach? Can
you recall anything familiar about him, Annette?”

CHAPTER XXXII.

THE SPIDER’S WEB.

Mrs. Fleming was not looking straight at Annette when she asked her
question, or she would have seen a deep crimson mount to the young
girl’s brow as she answered evasively:

“I do not remember any young man at Gull Beach who wore glasses.”

“Perhaps it was only my fancy that I had seen him before,” Mrs. Fleming
answered carelessly, dismissing the subject--in which, indeed, she took
but little interest, her anxious fears being centered on the alarming
rencounter of Daisie with the Cullens.

She was terrified at the thought of her finding out at this late day
the wicked part she had played in estranging her from Dallas Bain.

And yet she knew that it was possible, and even highly probable, that
Daisie might become acquainted with her treachery at no distant day.

It had taken a large bribe--no less a price than enough money to marry
on and set up housekeeping in New York--to induce Cullen and Letty
to carry out the hasty plot she had formed on the night when Royall’s
accident had made it possible to summon Daisie to his side and keep her
there. Mrs. Fleming had paid the pair a thousand dollars; but she did
not regret it, seeing that such success had crowned her efforts.

She had succeeded in parting Daisie and Dallas--a glorious triumph
for a woman who loved the latter as madly as she did, and she did not
despair of meeting him at some future time and winning him yet.

In the meantime, it was part of her policy to make friends with Daisie,
and, after overcoming the girl’s first natural resentment over the part
she had played in marrying her to Royall, she found it easy to do. Poor
Daisie was so sad and lonely with her wounded heart, in the midst of
her new splendor of wealth and place, that she could not repulse any
offered kindness.

So an intimacy, if not a real friendship, grew up between the pair, and
she was loath to have it broken off now by the risk that confronted her
in the attitude of her whilom maid and her rapacious husband.

Spoiled by the taste of wealth, the pair had begun a system of
blackmail that threatened to bankrupt the lady if permitted to continue.

In vain she offered to take both of them back into her employ and pay
the most liberal wages; they had grown too high and mighty to work, and
intended to be furnished with ample means to pursue a life of idleness
and luxury.

They threatened to betray the whole thing to Daisie unless she complied
with their insistent demands.

After a stormy scene this morning with Letty, in which she had
been remorselessly mulcted of several hundred dollars, it was most
embarrassing to find that Daisie had just met the pair outside, and
that only her payment of the money had prevented the injured girl from
finding out the whole truth.

She knew that Letty would return ere long for more money, and that her
persecution would never cease while the pair lived.

“Oh, I wish they would drop dead this day! I wish the trolley
cars would run them down and kill both the wretches!” she thought
vindictively.

She was thoroughly frightened and angry, too, at having to lose so
much money, and she took a sudden resolution to confess everything to
Royall, and get his advice.

After all, Royall had profited more than she had by the successful
plot. He had won Daisie for his wife, but she had lost Dallas Bain, for
whom she had dared and risked so much. Almost seven months had flown,
and she had never heard of him again since he had left Gull Beach in
the gray dawn, driven away by her cruel scheming. He might be dead and
buried, for all she knew.

And for all her beauty and pride and wealth, no one need have envied
Lutie Fleming, she was secretly so unhappy over the aching pain of her
wild and hopeless love.

True, the meeting last night with Lord Werter had turned her thoughts
in his direction; but she did not really suspect his identity with the
man she loved, despite the wonderful likeness. It was no wonder, for
she had been accustomed to think of Dallas as poor and obscure, tutored
thereto by Royall Sherwood.

But the fact remained that she could have found consolation very
quickly with Lord Werter, had she been given the chance; but Annette
Janowitz appeared to her in the light of a dangerous rival.

So her mood of to-day was certainly not a pleasant one, and the
temptation came to her to seek consolation in her troubles by sharing
them with her Cousin Royall. It was only fair that he should bear his
part, especially in paying the price of the deception, since he had
profited by it more than she had done.

So when the girls told her what a bright, sunny day it was, and how the
warm sun had melted away all the snow in the streets, and begged her to
go wheeling with them, she readily consented, saying she would like to
go and see Royall about some tiresome business.

Donning her becoming bicycle suit, the pretty blonde joined them on
their pleasant spin, and they remained out for something over an
hour, when an increasing chilliness in the air warned them that the
treacherous spring weather was not to be depended on for long.

“Let us go home,” said Daisie; and the others were very willing.

They had had many such pleasant trips together last fall, but this one
stayed in their memory ever afterward. They remembered it so well,
because it seemed like the calm before the storm, like the last bright
gleam of day before the gloom of night.

“Lutie, you may stay and talk to Royall while I go upstairs to change
my dress,” said Daisie, when they had gone in to see her husband, and
found him very bright and animated, listening to his companion’s spicy
reading of some political news.

Mrs. Fleming beamed on Reed Raymond presently with her kindest smile,
and observed:

“If you have been cooped up here all day with Royall, you had better go
out for a stroll and some fresh air while I amuse him.”

He thanked her, and went, deciding that he would call on Lord Werter
and tell him how well he was succeeding in his mission.

Mrs. Fleming chatted on indifferent subjects a while longer, then
cautiously led up to the subject nearest her heart, and presently
blurted it all out to her silent, startled listener.

It was a shock to him certainly--a greater shock than she had
foreboded.

He reeled under it, turning so pale that she was frightened, and
exclaimed:

“Oh, Royall, forgive me for telling you! but I could not bear the
burden any longer.”

His face was ghastly, but he answered sadly:

“I am not finding fault with you, Lutie; it’s too late for that; and
the burden must have been heavy on your conscience as well as your
purse. But you must not have that expense any longer.”

“You mean you will help to bear the expense of their extortions--that
we cannot put the wretches off?”

“No; we dare not incense them. It is worth the whole of my fortune
to keep this thing from Daisie. The Cullens must be paid to keep the
secret still. When they come again, draw on me for the amount of their
demands; and you must let me reimburse you, Lutie, for all you have
spent.”

“You are very generous, Royall.”

“No, only just; for, as you say, I am the only one who profited by your
treachery. It won sweet Daisie for me, my peerless wife. Ah, Lutie, you
do not dream how madly I love her, and how I dream of winning her love
in return when I get well!”

“She seems to love you now, Royall.”

“No; it is only sweet womanly pity. I would like to cheat my heart with
the thought that it is love, but I know better. She does not try to
deceive me. It is the tenderness of a sister she lavishes on me. What
better could I expect, helpless cripple that I am? But I still have
hopes of recovering, Lutie. I am trying every eminent doctor that I can
hear of; and when I am restored to health and strength again--you know
I was a handsome man once, Lutie--then surely, surely she will give me
her heart.”

It was the same hope that had possessed him from the hour that
Daisie Bell had first dawned on his vision, in her innocent, girlish
beauty--the longing to win her for his own.

To accomplish this he had stooped to every treacherous art that could
beguile her from her preference for another. He had succeeded in a
fashion; she wore his name and his jewels. She had been tricked into
that much by a hideous lie; but the craving of his heart was not yet
satisfied. Her love was yet to win.

He looked sadly at Lutie, saying:

“We had better change the subject now. She will be coming down
presently, poor, deceived darling!”

Alas! neither one of them had remembered the pretty little alcove
divided from the library only by heavy silken curtains, where there was
a cozy divan at the pleasure of the indolently inclined.

Daisie had come down long ago--almost immediately after Reed Raymond
went out; but the heaviness of heart that had seized on her after
meeting the Cullens made her disinclined for conversation just yet.
She slipped into the alcove from the hall, and lay down on the divan,
thinking she would go in presently, when conversation began to languish
between Royall and his cousin.

She did not mean to play the eavesdropper. She had no idea at first
that they were speaking of private matters. She was just tired, and
her head and her heart both ached. Poor Daisie, and she lay listening
dreamily, not caring at all what they were saying.

But suddenly a sentence caught and fixed her attention, because it held
the name of Dallas Bain.

She listened, spellbound, her heart beating wildly in her fair breast,
her face growing pale as death.

So she knew at last--Royall Sherwood’s unloving wife--how she had been
tricked and cheated out of happiness by that shameless scheming of
Lutie Fleming.

Should she stretch out her hand to draw back the curtain and denounce
the plotters for the shipwreck of her life--for the lies she had been
told when her lover was true as steel?

No, she would not speak now. What could reproaches avail? She had
walked into the spider’s web. She could not get free. What need to
proclaim her misery to the wretches who had caused it?

She got up, with a corpselike face, and dragged herself out into the
hall, thinking that she would go back to her own room and lie down, she
felt so strangely ill; but with her foot on the first step she reeled
and fell backward to the floor, crushed by the weight of her soul’s
despair.

Patrick was just admitting some callers--Mrs. Hill-Dixon and her
cousin, Lord Werter--when the sound of the fall drew their attention,
and the gentleman rushed to the prostrate form.

He saw her lying there like one dead, his life’s love, and, with a wild
rush of tenderness, lifted the beautiful form in his arms, exclaiming:

“Oh, heavens! what shall I do?”

“Just carry her up to her own room, Dallas. Patrick will lead the way,”
said Mrs. Hill-Dixon, who had a very practical mind, and saw that
Daisie had fainted.

Who could tell what thoughts rushed through his mind as he mounted the
stairs with his lovely unconscious burden? The strongest one was a
longing to crush her fondly against his breast and fly with her to the
uttermost parts of the earth, his beautiful love, of whom he had been
so cruelly cheated.

He could not bear to lay her down, when the frightened maid came to his
assistance, but his cousin reminded him of the proprieties by gently
whispering in his ear:

“Go down, now, and wait in the drawing-room for news.”

He was loath to obey--he longed to rebel, to cry out fiercely:

“I will not go until she opens her blue eyes and smiles on me, my lost
love, of whom I was cheated by cruel lies!”

But at that moment Annette entered and touched his hand warningly, as
she exclaimed:

“I am so glad to see you both. But now let us go down and leave Emma to
care for Daisie. It is only a simple fainting fit. See, she is already
opening her eyes.”

It was true; and as they left the room Dallas could not resist the
temptation of looking back. Yes, her eyes followed him with a wistful
pain that pierced his heart to its center.

CHAPTER XXXIII.

LOVE THAT WOULD LAST

A very interesting party were grouped in Royall Sherwood’s drawing-room.

First, there was the host, who had insisted on being wheeled into the
room when he learned of Lord Werter’s call.

And there was Mrs. Fleming, who had entered with him, looking like a
little girl in her jaunty bicycle suit, her fair locks gleaming under
a sealskin cap, her eyes beaming and her cheeks rosy, as she declared
that she must go directly, it was really getting too cool to ride the
bicycle home, but she really could not resist stopping a minute for
a chat with dear Mrs. Hill-Dixon. That lady knew quite well that her
titled cousin was the real attraction, but, of course, she was too
polite to say so.

Then there was Reed Raymond, who had returned just a moment ago, and
was watching Lord Werter devote himself to Annette with a sudden secret
heart pang at what might possibly happen. To him, Annette was a queen
among women. What if Lord Werter’s heart wound should be healed by the
glance of those saucy black eyes? What if he won her for his cherished
bride?

The man’s heart stood still a moment in its agony.

Then pride and despair came to the rescue, gibing him:

“Hush! What is that to you? She was yours once, and you could not trust
her true heart! You outraged her loving faith. Now she hates you. It is
the part of some nobler man to make her happy.”

He sighed, and tried not to watch them talking over there in that
friendly undertone, nor to wonder what they were saying.

And there was Daisie, who had entered a little while ago very pale and
lovely, making light of her sudden attack, and saying it was nothing
but a swimming in the head, not a real fainting spell; she had scarcely
been unconscious a minute, and she thought perhaps she had stayed
out too long on her wheel, et cetera, all very vivaciously to Mrs.
Hill-Dixon, but never once meeting the anxious glance of a pair of
dark eyes that she felt burning on her face.

She could not meet his look, lest the crimson should fly to her face,
for her form thrilled yet with the close pressure of the arms that
had borne her so tenderly upstairs while consciousness was returning
swiftly enough for her heart to recognize him, even if she had not
heard Mrs. Hill-Dixon address him familiarly as Dallas.

Yes, she knew him now for her lost love, her true love, and she longed
to cast herself on his broad breast and die there of her mingled joy
and despair--joy that he had never been false, but had loved her
truly--despair for the bond that held them asunder, the tie that made
her Royall Sherwood’s wife.

But she must not yield to her longing--she must not let them
know the fire that consumed her heart. Her part was silence and
patience--patience even at the cost of heartbreak.

What could anything avail now? They were parted forever. Perhaps he
could console himself with the little witch Annette, who was smiling
so sweetly on him now; and at the thought she, too, felt the arrow
of love’s jealous pain pierce her heart as it pierced that of Reed
Raymond sitting yonder so pale and self-possessed, like a soldier under
fire.

Yes, it was a strangely assorted group, and there was an element of
tragedy in the very air. All felt it except Mrs. Hill-Dixon, the
handsome, middle-aged woman who did not happen to be in the secret.

But they had all been talking for half an hour on careless society
subjects quite as if everything was as it seemed on the surface, when
suddenly the lady exclaimed:

“My dear Dallas, we must be going.”

Instantly a quick tremor of excitement ran through the group.

Dallas was not a common name, and, coupled with his startling likeness
to Dallas Bain, carried instant conviction of his identity to all.

Lutie Fleming uttered a little cry of surprise and dismay, and Royall
Sherwood, paling to the very lips, exclaimed:

“Dallas--Dallas Bain! Is it possible--my old friend?”

Every face wore such a look of dismay that Mrs. Hill-Dixon cried in
wonder:

“Why, what is the matter?”

No one heard her, for all were looking at Lord Werter, waiting for his
answer.

They saw him give Annette one swift, deprecating look, then he turned
to Royall and said:

“I meant to preserve my incognito among you all, but I forgot to
caution my cousin not to call me Dallas, so she has betrayed me
unwittingly--yes, I am Dallas Bain.”

“But what does it all mean? I am in the dark,” cried Mrs. Hill-Dixon.

Her cousin explained:

“Last year, when I crossed the sea, I made Mr. Sherwood’s acquaintance,
and was afterward his guest at Mrs. Fleming’s summer home. Just for a
whim I kept up a mystery about myself, and it rather amused me to find
that my new friends believed me ashamed of my origin, on the principle
that ‘where there is secrecy there is guilt.’ So when circumstances
terminated our friendship so abruptly that when we met again, after my
brother died, and I succeeded to his title, I did not think it worth
while to enlighten them as to my identity.”

His voice was cold, proud, almost stern, and for a moment no one could
find a word to say.

The weight of a guilty conscience kept Mrs. Fleming speechless, and
Annette was struck dumb with fear of what might happen next. It was a
tragic moment for all, even Mrs. Hill-Dixon, who began to see, from
all those blanched faces and frightened eyes, that there was something
uncommon in the air.

Royall Sherwood, his wan and wasted face as ghastly as a dead man’s,
stole a furtive glance at his wife.

Daisie did not return the anxious glance. She was lily-white, and her
great blue eyes, dark with suppressed emotion, dropped to the little
hands that were tightly clasped in her lap. The quivering red lip was
held in by the convulsive pressure of pearly teeth.

Reed Raymond, pallid and alarmed, looked on in silence, like the rest,
dreading, like Annette, what might happen next.

The silence was so profound and embarrassing that Mrs. Hill-Dixon had
to come to the rescue with a tinkling little society laugh, as she
exclaimed:

“Well, you have certainly given our friends a great surprise!”

Mrs. Fleming gasped, and recovered herself, twittering sweetly:

“Lord Werter, I saw through your flimsy disguise last night, and
was only waiting for you to declare your identity and renew old
friendships.”

He laughed absently, without answering, and she saw that he was
stealing a furtive glance at Daisie, who still did not look up from the
little hands she seemed to be inspecting beneath her lowered lashes.
She appeared indeed cold and indifferent.

But it was not hard to guess that she was putting the sternest
restraints on herself, fighting down her rebel heart, lest she should
cry out before them all that she had been tricked and deceived, torn
asunder from the love of her life, and the cruel truth was breaking her
tender heart.

Again Mrs. Hill-Dixon, seeing and wondering at the strange pallor on
every face, came to the rescue, rising, with a rustle of silks and
laces, and saying:

“Indeed, Dallas; we must be saying good-by, for I am due at a reception
within ten minutes.”

Every one rose with suppressed sighs of relief to see them go, and then
Lord Werter said quietly:

“Give me five minutes of your time, Cousin Elinor, to shake hands with
my friends, for I am leaving to-morrow for California, and shall not
see them again before my return to Europe.”

It was a promise to go out of their lives forever, and all understood
it so; but did they guess that he touched hands with all just for the
privilege of holding one minute in his own those cold fingers of his
dear lost love, sweet Daisie? If they did, who could grudge him that
small boon, when he had been cheated of so much?

She was the last one to whom he spoke, and his farewell words to her
were brief as to the rest. Only the lingering handclasp, close and
meaning, told to her own heart a story plain as words of a love that,
though hopeless, would last forever, and their swift farewell glance
had in it all the pathos of life’s despair.

CHAPTER XXXIV.

UNMASKED.

Reed Raymond followed the departing guests to the door, anxious for
a private word with his friend Lord Werter; and then Mrs. Fleming
exclaimed jauntily:

“Well, I must be going, too. Good-by, all!”

She was anxious to get away, for she felt frightened of Daisie,
somehow, though undreaming that the girl had learned the secret of her
treachery.

But, to her alarm and surprise, Daisie stretched out an imperative
hand, saying sternly:

“Wait, Lutie. There is something I must say to you and Royall.”

Annette turned to the door, saying nervously:

“I will go upstairs.”

“No;” and Daisie’s outstretched white hand motioned her to a seat, as
she added: “You know so much of my story, Annette, that I want you to
hear the rest.”

These three, who knew in their secret hearts how cruelly Daisie
had been wronged, and how much they were responsible, waited in the
greatest wonder and fear to hear what she might say.

They were prepared for something startling from the awful pallor of her
lovely face and the tragic ring of her sweet voice.

She stood up, with her arms folded on the back of her chair, the long
train of her blue silk gown trailing behind her on the floor, the rich
color bringing out the waving gold of her hair and the lily white of
her face--stood up and said to them in clear, unfaltering tones:

“I thought it as well, Royall, to tell you and your cousin that it will
not be necessary for you to pay Letty and her husband any greater price
for my misery. I know it all.”

“All!” muttered Royall hollowly.

“All!” echoed Lutie, in a sickly tone of dismay.

“All!” murmured Annette, in surprise and grief.

And, with an almost tragic sweep of her white hand, Daisie repeated
bitterly:

“All!”

They were unable to utter a single word. They could only wait
shrinkingly for her to continue her scathing arraignment.

“I know all!” she repeated, and the note of despair in her voice
scathed their hearts, it was so pathetic. “I know the plot that was
laid to part me from my lover, how we both were tricked and cheated by
lies and forged letters that turned our hearts to ice. Letty and Cullen
played their parts well from beginning to end--aye, until this very
day; but----”

“Dallas Bain, Lord Werter, has found out, and told you this!” hissed
Mrs. Fleming fiercely.

“No; I doubt if the story is yet known to him. By your own lips you are
condemned. Lutie Fleming, from your own lips I heard the cruel story of
my wrongs.”

“Ah-h!” cried Royall, in a sharp voice of comprehension, and she went
on, in that deep, accusing voice:

“When I left you with Royall this afternoon, I hurried upstairs to
change my dress, and came back and lay down on the sofa in the alcove
to rest. I did not mean to eavesdrop. I was only tired, and wanted to
rest while you chatted with Royall, so--I heard all!”

There was nothing to be said, no defense possible, they could only hang
their heads like detected felons.

Then the scheming widow, stealing a furtive glance at her cousin’s
face, was startled at its ghastly pallor.

Her tenderness for him nerved her to make one effort for his sake.

“Lay the blame on me!” she cried defiantly. “If you heard all, as you
say, you know that he was not in the plot, that it was mine alone--all
the fault mine. I dare say you would like to forsake poor Royall and
run after Lord Werter now, but you cannot do it, for you stayed with my
cousin of your own free will, and you cannot leave him now.”

“Hush!” breathed Royall hoarsely; and Daisie turned from her with a
glance of contempt.

She looked at Royall, and said gently:

“I have nothing but contempt and hatred for this woman, but you I pity.”

“Only pity!” he groaned; but she continued:

“You know I never professed anything but pity for you. My love was
given elsewhere before I was drawn into that mockery of a marriage
that chained me, an unloving wife, to your side.”

She paused, drew a long, quivering breath, and continued:

“You know I have tried to do my duty by you--that I will still try.”

“Yes, yes,” he cried, in a tone of infinite relief. He had feared that
she meant to apply for a divorce, and in the madness of his love he
was too selfish to bear such a suggestion. “You would not leave me,
Daisie--ill and crippled? It would be heartless!” he cried weakly, in
his agitation.

All his pity was for himself--none for her, so beautiful, so helpless,
so cruelly wronged by every additional hour of this bondage of a
loveless marriage.

She answered, with the calmness of a great despair:

“I must leave you, Royall, for a while--a little while--because I
should go mad just now without a change of some sort. I shall go
to-morrow down to Gull Beach for a few weeks with Aunt Alice. You
must do without me while I wrestle in silence with a grief beyond all
telling, and gain strength by prayer to take up my burden and face the
world again.” A pause to gather courage, and she added: “Annette tells
me she has a letter from home to-day. Her mother is sick, and begs
her to return. She goes to-morrow, and I shall accompany her on her
journey.”

It was true. Annette had seized on the first excuse that offered to
leave New York. It seemed to her that she could not breathe the same
air with Ray Dering--he had come, and she must go.

“Oh, Daisie, you will soon return?” he half sobbed, breaking down
utterly.

She moved to his side, and asked earnestly:

“Tell me--if you could have known what she was doing that night, would
you have joined in that infamous plot against my happiness?”

No matter what he would have done, he knew, at this moment that his
only salvation lay in denying it now.

He answered quickly:

“No, never!”

“Then I will return,” she answered, from the depths of her true womanly
pity, and swept from the room without another glance at the cruel woman
who had wrought all her woe.

CHAPTER XXXV.

“GOD HELP US!”

The sky was as blue as summer, the air was soft and bland, and the
little, laughing wavelets at Gull Beach, rippled by the April breeze,
rolled softly in upon the yellow sands.

It was three weeks now since Daisie and Annette had come away from New
York back to Maryland--three weeks since the morning when Daisie had
stooped over Royall while he held her hands, and kissed him with cold,
unresponsive lips, while she said:

“God help us both to bear this sorrow!”

She could not hate him, or be angry with him, because his love and
his affliction made her generous heart very kind and pitiful, and she
realized that the cross of suffering lay heavy on them both.

So her beautiful eyes grew dim with tears as she gave the kiss his eyes
entreated, and whispered pitifully and prayerfully:

“God help us both to bear our sorrow!”

“If you would only try to love me!” he groaned entreatingly, and
Daisie answered, with gentle patience:

“I have been trying ever since--that night when you were hurt. I will
keep on trying.”

“You are an angel, my wife!” he cried passionately, realizing
remorsefully how unworthy he was of her noble sacrifice, yet not
wishing himself dead and out of the way so that she might be happy.
He was too selfish for that, and madly jealous in his heart of the
reappearance of Dallas Bain in so enviable a position.

So when Mrs. Fleming came to see him, after the girls had gone away,
he wished her godspeed when she told him frankly that she intended to
follow Lord Werter to California, and try to win him in spite of all
that had passed.

“He is the only man I ever loved, though I have always had plenty of
lovers,” she said; “and I was willing to take him, in spite of his
seeming obscurity. Now, with his title, he is more desirable than ever,
and I mean to throw myself in his way and win him yet if woman’s wit
can accomplish it. It will be a relief to you, too, if I get him, for
you can never be safe over Daisie until he is married to another.”

“No, never; and I am very sorry he ever turned up again. I hoped in my
heart that the fellow was dead. Go in and win if you can, Lutie, and
I’ll give you a diamond sunburst worth fifty thousand dollars for a
bridal gift!” cried Royall, who felt that the price would be small to
pay for security over Daisie; for he was always dreading that she might
secure a divorce from him in order to marry her old lover.

Meanwhile, Daisie and Annette had traveled to Gull Beach, and although
Aunt Alice was taken by surprise, she was very glad to see her niece,
and made her very welcome.

“I thought you would be so fine and gay in your grand New York mansion
that you would never care to visit my humble cottage again,” she
exclaimed; and Daisie answered evasively:

“I have been leading too gay a life, Aunt Alice, in the whirl of social
life, and now I am threatened with nervous prostration; so I must keep
very quiet for a few weeks, and I knew your home was the very best
haven of rest I could find.”

“Dear knows you’ll find it quiet enough here, and I’ll do my best to
make you well again,” replied the old lady cordially, for she was very
proud of Daisie and the grand match she had made.

But she soon found that wealth does not always confer happiness; for,
day by day, Daisie drooped like a strangely blighted flower, until at
last she found that the girl was threatened with a serious illness.

“I don’t like the look of you, Daisie. You’ve been failing steadily
ever since you came here, ten days ago. I don’t believe you’ve ever
smiled since you came, and you don’t eat as much as a bird. Now you
don’t feel well enough to rise from your bed, your face is red and
feverish, and your pulse fairly frightens me. I’m going to send for
Doctor Burns, and write for your husband to come.”

“No, no--you must not let Mr. Sherwood know unless I should be dying,
and--there’s no such luck as that. The wretched are long-lived,”
bitterly. “But you may send for Doctor Burns, Aunt Alice, for I believe
you are right. I am going to be ill.”

She fell back among her pillows, shut her eyes, and seemed to sleep;
then, before the doctor came, she had lapsed into delirious babblings.
While he sat by the bed, watching her with the greatest uneasiness, she
had a lucid interval, in which she begged him not to let Royall know of
her illness.

“He is not strong, and the shock might kill him. You can take care of
me,” she said pleadingly.

But when she was quiet again, he whispered to her aunt and Annette:

“But, good heavens, this is brain fever! I fear that she will die!”

CHAPTER XXXVI.

THE STRENGTH OF LOVE.

The anxious days came and went until Daisie had been ill almost two
weeks, with scarcely a conscious moment; but still no word went
to Royall Sherwood of her illness, because of the promise she had
extracted not to let him know unless she was actually dying.

And, though the fever rose to its greatest height, and her delirious
ravings made their hearts ache with the fear that she could not live,
still the crisis had not come yet, and the letter was not sent.

There was no lack of skillful nursing, no lack of medical care, no
lack of love, for Aunt Alice and Annette gave her all their time; but
it almost seemed as if nothing could hold Daisie back from the land of
shadows to which she was hastening. She had no hold on life, because
she was weary of it.

On that beautiful day when the sun came out so brightly, and the blue
waves lapped the golden shore at Gull Beach, Doctor Burns thought he
saw a subtle change in his patient, whether for better or worse he
could not yet say, but he told them that the crisis would come that
night.

“Had we not better telegraph Mr. Sherwood now?” he asked anxiously.

“No; I would wait the result of the crisis,” Annette answered, so
decidedly that he hesitated and gave in.

About sunset he came again, but he found no change in his patient, who
still remained in the stupor that had fallen on her at noonday.

The trained nurse had gone out for a breath of fresh air, and Annette
sat by the window, watching the sunset lights upon the sea, her eyes
sad and her bright face pale with anxiety.

Doctor Burns sat down at her side, and whispered abruptly:

“I have news for you. Royall Sherwood’s Fifth Avenue residence was
burned to the ground just before daylight this morning.”

Annette gave a wild start of surprise, and he added:

“I read it a while ago in an evening paper--a telegraphic item.”

Annette thought with horror of the helpless paralytic.

A lump rose up in her throat, almost choking her, as she gasped:

“Don’t tell me that Mr. Sherwood----”

“Forgive me for alarming you--I read your thought--he is safe.”

“Thank Heaven!” she breathed, clasping her little hands in joy; and the
doctor continued:

“He was saved by the heroism of a gentleman staying in the house, who
carried him out through smoke and flame, in his arms. But here is the
paper. You can read it for yourself. Very short, but I suppose the
morning papers will give us full particulars.”

The tears sprang to her eyes, almost blinding her, as she grasped the
paper and devoured the short paragraph from New York:

The elegant Fifth Avenue house of the millionaire, Royall
Sherwood, was burned to the ground this morning just before
daylight, by a fire whose origin could not be discovered. Mr.
Sherwood, who is a helpless cripple, must have perished in
the flames but for the heroism of a Mr. Raymond, his private
secretary, who carried his employer out in his arms through dense
fire and smoke at the peril of his life, and sustained fatal
injuries in the performance of his noble act.

“Oh!” gasped Annette; and there rushed over her memory the last words
she had heard from Ray Dering’s lips.

It was when they were leaving New York that day when Daisie had turned
to him in the hall and begged him not to let Royall miss her, but to
try to make him happy, he had answered so earnestly:

“Have no fears, dear madam--I will devote my life to him.”

To Annette he had bowed, without a word, feeling that she preferred it
so; but the sad, yearning glance of his fine dark eyes had haunted her
painfully ever since.

“I will devote my life to him,” he had promised; and in those two
words, “fatal injuries,” Annette read the story of that devotion.

Freely, gladly he had sacrificed himself in atonement for the wrong he
had unwittingly done Royall Sherwood in a moment of jealous rage and
madness.

Something seemed to snap asunder in Annette’s tortured heart, and she
astonished the good old doctor by sinking back unconscious in her chair.

“Good gracious, what a nervous little thing!” he ejaculated, hastening
to apply restoratives; and when she opened her eyes presently he
exclaimed:

“Tut, tut! You are too tender-hearted.”

“Oh, you do not know--you do not understand,” shuddered Annette,
leaning her little dark head against the windowpane.

At that moment the rumble of carriage wheels stopping at the gate drew
her attention down into the street.

She started in wonder, and swept her hand across her eyes, as if to
clear their vision, exclaiming:

“I must be dreaming! This cannot be reality!”

The old doctor was looking, too, and he blurted out, in amazement:

“Bless my heart! If that is not Royall Sherwood stepping out of the
carriage, too, with two strong legs as limber as mine. It’s a miracle!”

But their eyes had not deceived them. It was indeed Royall Sherwood,
stepping with old-time grace and lightness, and Aunt Alice met him at
the door and led him in.

They waited with bated breath five minutes, and they came upstairs
together.

Royall Sherwood did not seem to see any one but the wreck of beautiful
Daisie, lying so still and silent on the bed. He went and stood by her,
gazing in horror at the wasted face and form, and the shorn head whence
all the golden curls had been clipped away so as to apply ice to the
burning brain.

“Can this be Daisie--my wife, Daisie!” he muttered, in grief and dread,
and fell on his knees, his arms clasping the unconscious girl, his
slight frame heaving with emotion.

They stood around in reverent silence till the storm of grief spent
itself, and he looked up indignantly, crying:

“Why was I not told of this? How dared you keep it from me that she was
dying?”

They could pardon his anger for the sake of his grief, and very gently
they explained the reason.

But Royall Sherwood would not be pacified. He insisted that he had been
badly treated--that they should not have listened to a sick girl’s
ravings--that his place was by her side.

But, as if disturbed by his complaints, Daisie moved restlessly, threw
her wasted arms about, and called pleadingly:

“Dallas! Dallas! Dallas!”

Royall Sherwood started as if stung, and stifled an oath between his
blanched lips, while Annette bent and whispered in his ear:

“You see now why it was better for you not to come. She is always
calling for him.”

The kind-faced nurse came in, and said frankly to the doctor:

“I am afraid there is too much excitement for my patient. Please leave
her alone with me.”

They led Royall most unwillingly into the next room, and then Doctor
Burns exclaimed:

“But, my dear fellow, we are just dying to hear about your recovery
from your paralytic state. When you arrived we were just reading of
your rescue from your burning house, and----”

“That was it, doctor; that was what wrought the miracle of my
recovery,” exclaimed Royall radiantly, and he went on to explain: “You
see, I woke up in the midst of blinding smoke and flame. I shrieked for
my valet, who usually slept in a little room opening off from mine.
There was no answer. The wretch had escaped, leaving me to perish.
In my agony, I tried to spring from bed. My crippled limbs refused
assistance, and I hung face downward, stifling, dying, in that hell
of fire and smoke, shrieking and cursing, I am afraid, too, in my
despair. After an eternity of waiting, till I was almost dead, I heard
a voice in the room calling and praying: ‘Sherwood, where are you? I am
coming. God, help me to save him if I perish myself! God, be good to
me--let me atone by a noble death.’ It was Raymond, my companion. He
got to me somehow, clutched me, wrapped me in bedclothes, and staggered
away with me. Oh, it was so long before he got me to the outside! I
thought we both must perish in the fire, but he battled on, praying,
always praying, that same prayer: ‘God, let me save this man, if I
perish myself!’ But I must not harrow up your feelings. His prayer was
granted. He staggered to the door with me, and fell. When they got us
up, he--poor fellow!--had such horrible burns on his legs and shoulders
he could not live. But for me--oh, for me, a miracle had been wrought.
The shock, something--perhaps the fellow’s prayers--had cured my
paralysis, restored me to myself--I could walk!”

The tears ran down their cheeks, while his face glowed with joy.

“I cannot tell you what joy I felt, what triumph; it is beyond words,”
he cried. “My first thought was for Daisie--to go to her, to hear her
rejoice over my restoration. But they sent for me to Raymond, who had
been taken to the hospital. I had to go. He wished to tell me something
before he died--a--a secret--so I cannot tell you any more,” he added,
with a meaning look at Annette.

She sobbed aloud:

“And he is dead, brave soul?”

“No--not when I came away. He might linger some time. It was impossible
for the doctors to say.”

“And you deserted his dying bed, Royall Sherwood, when he had given his
life for yours? Cruel!” she cried, with passionate indignation.

He looked abashed for a moment, then answered:

“Poor fellow! I could do him no good staying till the last, and I was
eager to see Daisie, of course. Who could blame me?”

“Let me go home!” the girl cried chokingly, rushing from among them to
seek her mother’s sympathetic arms.

Passionate sobs, a meek confession, eager entreaties, and mother and
daughter set out on the first train for New York.

In the gray dawn, they reached the hospital.

“Is he alive yet?”

“Oh, yes; and there is the barest chance he may pull through, in spite
of his awful injuries. So glad that some of his friends are come at
last. Poor fellow! He seemed so lonely,” said the kind nurse.

Soon she was kneeling by his cot, her lips against his cheek, sobbing:

“Ray, do you know me--your little Annette? My hero, will you forgive
me?”

“Oh, my darling, how noble of you to come to me before--I died! I have
done all I could to atone. It is for you to forgive,” the weak voice
murmured.

“Oh, Ray, you will not die. I will pray, pray, pray, as you did when
you brought Royall through the fire to safety. God will let you live
for me, my own love, and we will forgive each other everything and be
happy at last.”

Oh, the strength of Love! It fought with death and came out triumphant.

There were long and weary weeks of patient suffering, but love and care
brought him back at last from the dark borders of the grave to life and
happiness.

* * * * *

Annette’s precipitate flight created such consternation in the minds of
the doctor and Mrs. Bell that Royall felt called on to explain.

“Poor fellow! He was Annette’s sweetheart, and I would give half my
fortune to save his life as he so nobly saved mine. But they said at
Bellevue that it was impossible for him to live.”

Then his thoughts flew back to Daisie, and he cried pleadingly:

“Doctor, you must not let my wife die now, when I am so miraculously
restored to her as from the grave. No expense must be spared. Have you
had consulting physicians?”

“Two of the best in Baltimore. Everything that is possible has been
done. We can only await the issue with hope and prayer. The crisis will
almost certainly come to-night.”

“You will let me share the watch by her side?” pleadingly.

“Yes, if the good nurse will consent, though she is very arbitrary. But
we cannot afford to go against her wishes. She is from the Baltimore
Hospital, and the best nurse procurable.”

He went into the sick room to look at the patient again, and to ask
leave for her husband to stay in the room.

“He may try it, but she is very susceptible to the influence of any one
who enters the room,” replied the clever nurse, whose patient had again
relapsed into seeming stupor.

So by and by Royall went in and sat by the window to watch the night
out in mingled hope and fear.

How deathly his wife looked, as if the grim King of Terrors had already
claimed her as his own. She lay so still and so seemingly lifeless that
it was almost a relief when she began to toss and turn again, and to
mutter wild, incoherent words.

When this had gone on some time, the intelligent nurse whispered in his
ear:

“I beg your pardon, Mr. Sherwood, but it would almost seem as if your
presence had some disturbing influence on her, and not for the best,
either. Will you kindly retire a while, and let me see what effect it
may have on her restlessness?”

Bitterly chagrined, he left the house and went down to the sea to pace
the yellow sands for an hour, brooding bitterly over his sorrow.

With what sanguine hopes he had left New York this morning, expecting
to find Daisie bright and beautiful as ever, and believing that it
might not be hard to win her love at last, now that he was well and
strong again.

But to see her stricken so--her beauty faded, her golden glory of
tresses shorn away, her life ebbing out, it seemed, so fast. Oh, it was
cruel, unbearable.

The wish came to him that he had never seen the fair face that he had
determined to make his own in spite of opposing obstacles.

“She was not for me--Heaven never meant it so--she will die to punish
me for my masterful will,” he groaned to himself, in passionate
rebellion against his untoward fate.

He went back to the house, and they told him she had been lying quietly
for some time, almost ever since he went out.

He went in to look at her, to press a tender kiss on her damp, white
brow; but again she became restless, tossing wildly, and calling:

“Dallas! Dallas! Dallas!”

“It is quite evident that your presence disturbs her, sir, so you had
better go to bed and rest. You can do no good here,” the nurse said
candidly.

Mrs. Bell led him to a quiet chamber, and begged him to retire.

“After your thrilling experiences of last night, you must be very
weary, and a night’s sleep will refresh you. Have no fear for Daisie.
We will do our best,” she said kindly.

He retired, but it seemed to him at first that he could never
rest again, so keen was his humiliation that Daisie, even in
unconsciousness, could never endure his proximity, and kept calling on
the name of his hated rival.

But at last weariness overpowered him, and he fell into a heavy,
dreamless sleep that lasted till the morning sun peeped in through the
shutters.

He rose in a tumult of fear, and began to dress, but almost immediately
Doctor Burns came in, exclaiming:

“Good news! She passed the crisis safely at midnight, and will live.”

CHAPTER XXXVII.

FOR ROYALL’S SAKE.

She was better, sweet Daisie--with care and good nursing her life would
be preserved to her friends.

But that obdurate nurse, so clever and opinionated, would not permit
Royall Sherwood to see his wife for a week. She said:

“I don’t profess to understand it, doctor, not at all, but facts are
stubborn things, and I know that the presence of her husband has a
distinctly injurious effect on Mrs. Sherwood’s health. Perhaps they had
quarreled before she left home; I don’t know; but if he wants her to
get well tell him to stay out of the sick room for a week, at least.”

Royall was secretly furious, but he had to obey.

“A week is not long,” encouraged the sympathetic old doctor. “And we
have to humor the whims of nurses as well as invalids, you know. After
all, it will do you more good to exercise your newly gained strength in
the open air than pottering about a sick room.”

Royall grumbled, but he obeyed, taking rooms at the hotel, and calling
each day at the cottage.

And he managed to kill time and enjoy himself in many ways, despite
his solicitude over Daisie. He boated, drove, and walked with some
congenial friends he made at the hotel, and his strength and his good
looks returned fast. The days flew fast and pleasantly.

When the week was up, the grim nurse herself came to meet him when he
called to inquire for Daisie.

“She is improving every day, but very slowly, and I have let her sit up
in an easy-chair to-day for the first time,” she said.

“Does she know I am here?” he asked hopefully, eagerly.

“I broke it to her gently this morning, but still the shock was great.
Perhaps it was from joy at hearing you were well again,” said the
nurse, who could not understand a fact that she easily perceived--that
the invalid seemed to have a secret shrinking from him.

As she knew none of the circumstances of the strange marriage, she felt
convinced that the young wife must have had a quarrel with her husband
before she came to visit her aunt.

How could she gauge the strange despair of Daisie when she learned
that her duty would be harder than ever now? That instead of playing
the rôle of friend and sister, as heretofore, she must assume the real
status of a wife?

No wonder that she fainted, and that the nurse was sadly frightened ere
she restored her to consciousness.

She felt sorry for the anxious young husband, and said gently:

“My dear young lady, if you could bear to see him a little while it
would make him very happy.”

Daisie was silent a moment, then she said gently and hopelessly, it
seemed to the attentive nurse:

“Of course I will see my husband. It is his right and my duty--I mean,
my pleasure.”

So the woman let her sit up after a while, and made her as pretty as
she could--poor, pallid, wasted Daisie, with her shorn head, where the
golden locks were just peeping out again, covered with a soft lace
scarf; and so she awaited his coming.

She had been so sorry for his affliction that she was unselfishly glad
of his restoration to health, and the tears came to her eyes when he
entered, stepping with the free grace of old.

“Daisie!”

“Royall!”

She held her face up bravely for the kiss she knew he wanted, and the
nurse, just leaving the room, thought it was a reconciliation.

“All will go well now,” she said.

Daisie fought with herself for power to seem glad and kind. As she read
in his eyes the love that filled his heart she determined that she must
try to forget and forgive the fraud by which he had won her, because
of his great love. She would pray Heaven as she had never done before
to let her forget a pair of haunting dark eyes, lips that were sweeter
than honey, a voice like music, and to put in her tortured heart a
wife’s love for her husband.

When she saw him looking at her so fondly, she blushed and murmured:

“Am I not hideous--all my curls gone?”

“They will grow again, just as beautiful as ever, and you could never
be hideous to me, anyway.”

“Thank you. But I know I look wretched. My cheeks so thin, my eyes so
big and hollow! But I have been very ill. It is a wonder I did not die.”

“I was afraid that you would, dear. I began to feel that fate was
against me in everything, and that you would be taken from me in
punishment for the fraud by which I won you. It was wicked, I know,
but perhaps God will forgive and let me find happiness with you at
last--because I love you so.”

It was pathetic, pitiful--this mad love that had broken the barriers of
Right and Duty for its own sake. But would Heaven indeed forgive?

Royall Sherwood never considered any one but himself in the struggle
for Daisie’s love--not even Daisie herself. Still less the man he
had robbed of his love and cheated of his happiness. Would he indeed
prosper at last on the wreck of another’s hopes?

He looked so yearningly at Daisie that she murmured:

“I--I have not told you yet how glad I am that you are well again.”

“Glad? Oh, thank you for that sweet word! If you had been sorry,
darling, it must have broken my heart. Now you will be truly mine! I
have been making such plans, dear, for our future. As soon as you are
well enough to travel, I want to take you abroad on our real bridal
tour. Will you come with me?”

“Yes, I will come.”

Her cheeks were ashen, and the light of her eyes grew dim, but the
promise was made, and he thanked her so eloquently, adding proudly:

“Before long I shall make you love me as fondly as I love you. Will you
try, Daisie?”

“Yes, I will try, Royall.”

But it startled her to find that she did not feel as tender over him as
she used to do. It was only pity then, and now he was well and strong,
he did not need it, and there was nothing to take its place.

He continued anxiously:

“When you get really fond of me, dear Daisie, perhaps you will forgive
poor Lutie’s sins--will you?”

She made no answer save a flash of her eyes, and he added:

“Poor Lutie, I feel sorry for her, because she was so madly in love
with Dallas Bain, and could stop at nothing to win his heart in return.
Why, she has even followed him to California, still hoping to catch his
heart in the rebound.”

“Do not let us speak of either of them. I hate her--and I must forget
him,” Daisie faltered valiantly.

“Forgive me; I will not, dear,” regretting his slip of the tongue.

He stayed with her an hour; then the nurse came in to say she had
talked long enough to-day; Mr. Sherwood might stay longer to-morrow.

He took the hint, and rose, though he grumbled that it was very hard to
drive a man away so soon from his own sweet wife.

The nurse went to the window so as not to embarrass the parting, and
then Daisie whispered, with a kindling blush:

“We had better begin all over again, Royall--like sweethearts, you
know. You may come and court me every day, but we will pretend we are
not married till--we go away--on our bridal tour.”

“It shall be as you wish, my angel,” he answered tenderly, in the great
happiness of feeling that she would soon be all his own. Who could not
be patient, having gained so sweet a promise?

So the April days came and went, till it was three weeks since the fire
and his coming to Gull Beach.

Annette had written to say that Ray Dering--all knew him by his own
name now, for when he believed himself dying he had confessed his sin
to Royall and won his forgiveness--was convalescing fast, and would
soon be well again. She was busy buying her wedding clothes in New
York, and mamma had consented for her to marry Ray in June, when they
would go abroad for a trip.

Royall had told Daisie of Ray’s confession, and added:

“But we must never betray the poor fellow’s secret to any one else--not
even Lutie. He saved my life so nobly that his confidence shall be
sacred.”

Daisie was more glad to hear this secret than he guessed, for she had
been tormented by the mystery of who had wounded Royall ever since Mrs.
Fleming had told her she had seen Dallas Bain commit the crime--not
that she believed the story, but she feared the wicked woman might dare
to accuse Dallas of it to gain revenge for his scorn.

The first day of May--would Daisie ever forget it?--Royall remained all
day with his “sweetheart,” as he gayly called her, humoring her whims;
and on kissing her good-by, he said tenderly:

“A dozen kisses this time, sweetheart, because I am going to New York
to-night, to be gone a few days, to meet poor Lutie, who has written me
that she has come home, disappointed, from California, and wants to see
me about pressing business matters.”

How glad Daisie was afterward that she let him take all the kisses he
wanted, and that she even clasped her white arms tenderly about his
neck, and sent him away happy, confident that he was winning her love
at last.

Was it true? Was she going to find happiness with him at last, or was
it only a pitiful playing at love?

He was fated never to know.

Between the dark and the dawn, his train broke through a trestle, and
crashed down into a raging hell of swollen waters. The twoscore souls
among whom he perished were hurled in an instant from life to death.

Full of hope and joy, dreaming of his love--Daisie--Royall Sherwood
went to death through the gates of sleep.

The waters gave up his bruised body the next morning, and on his lips
was a smile--the smile that Daisie’s caress had left shining there.

Two days later he had a grand funeral, at which Mrs. Fleming was the
chief mourner, for his young widow was too ill to attend it. She had a
relapse from the awful shock of the news, and hovered for days between
life and death.

When she was well enough to sit up again, she found two very tender
letters awaiting her perusal. One was a very fond and tender note from
Annette, proffering her sympathy, and telling her of the grand funeral,
and how beautiful the new mound looked in Greenwood, all banked with
fragrant flowers.

The other letter was from Mrs. Fleming, whose pride, crushed and broken
by the death of the cousin she had truly loved, stooped now to crave
forgiveness of her she had wronged.

Think kindly of his memory, now that he is gone; for indeed
I am most to blame, and I feel that Heaven has punished me
for my sin in taking him away, when we were always so fond of
each other, having no nearer kin. I know you can never be real
friends with me; but won’t you pretend to be friends, so that the
world--Royall’s world and mine--need never know how that marriage
came about? I would like to come and see you, so that people
might say we love each other for Royall’s sake. May I? And,
Daisie, will you please me by wearing black for him? It would
please him if he could know. Of course you will marry Lord Werter
after a while; it is only right you should. I have not a word to
say. I loved him myself--perhaps Royall told you that--but Dallas
cared only for you, and you two will be happy together at last,
despite all my wicked scheming. It is the will of Heaven. Oh, if
you could find it in your tender heart to pity and forgive me!

The next mail carried the repentant woman an envelope sealed in black,
and one tear-blotted line:

I forgive--for Royall’s sake.

DAISIE.

CHAPTER XXXVIII.

“LOVE IS LORD OF ALL.”

Two years, and the grass was green on Royall Sherwood’s grave.

Many times had a beautiful form, robed in somber black, knelt by that
low, green mound; many times had Daisie hung flowers upon the broken
marble shaft, and watered them with her gentle tears.

For “pity is akin to love,” and Daisie did not have to pretend a sorrow
she did not feel. Her grief was deep and fervent for the hopeful life
cut off in its morning.

Once, when Lutie Fleming had come with her to the grave, she had said
mournfully:

“Oh, if he had lived I must have learned to love him by and by--he must
have won me by the strength of his own love. Now I will always live
single for his sake.”

“No, Daisie, do not say that in your grief and remorse, for there was
another who was so cruelly wronged in the past that you must soon begin
to think of his claims. You know whom I mean, dear.”

Yes, Daisie knew. Soon after Royall’s death he had sent her one
sympathetic line:

God bless you, my sweet little Daisie!

And so noble and gentle was his heart that he did not, for more than a
year, intrude on the quiet mourning for the dead by recalling himself
to her memory.

Yet Dallas knew that she would not forget.

When a year had passed, Mrs. Fleming showed how much her heart had
changed by saying:

“You ought to lighten your mourning now, Daisie. Lord Werter has been
very patient and forgiving, but he will be coming soon.”

And within the month came another short letter:

May I come now, Daisie? Or have you changed?

The answer went back:

Be patient a little longer that we may not seem cold or selfish
to the world. But I am the same loving Daisie.

Pretty Annette was married long ago, and had made her wedding tour to
Europe. When she returned she had much to tell of the glories of Lord
Werter’s ancestral home, and of the month she had spent as his guest.

“Oh, Daisie, how dearly he loves you, and what a happy bride you will
be! Almost as happy as I am with Ray!” she added, with a fond glance at
her adoring husband.

Ray Dering was a changed man--purged of his worst fault by sorrow and
suffering, and humbly grateful to Heaven that had permitted him to
atone for the evil he had wrought.

Lutie Fleming, too, was changed for the better.

She had conquered her love for Lord Werter, realizing at last its
hopelessness.

And from hating Daisie Bell with the passion of a jealous rival, she
had grown to love her as a sister.

“Who could help from loving you, Daisie? You are so noble and good! No
one but an angel could have forgiven me my sins,” she cried over and
over.

So when Lord Werter crossed the sea to claim his bonny bride, she was
unselfishly glad that the long-parted lovers would be happy at last.

All due respect had been paid the memory of her cousin, who had been
dead two years, and Daisie had a right to her happiness. Even Aunt
Alice, who was the most censorious of mortals, agreed that it was so,
and she and Doctor Burns came from Gull Beach to the grand June wedding
that took place from Mrs. Fleming’s home, where Daisie had lived the
most of the time since Royall’s death, to please the repentant woman.

Ah, what a meeting they had, those two fond lovers, once so cruelly
parted, now united till death by the marriage vow!

Sorrow had only intensified their love and made their trust in each
other’s constancy more perfect. With hearts full of joy they clasped
hands at God’s holy altar, and sailed away, leaving sorrowing hearts
behind them, but sure of a glad welcome awaiting the bonny bride in her
new home.

THE END.

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Transcriber’s Notes

Obvious typographical errors have been silently corrected. Variations
in hyphenation and accents have been standardised but all other
spelling and punctuation remains unchanged.

Italics are represented thus _italic_, superscripts thus y^n.

*** End of this LibraryBlog Digital Book "The strength of love : or, Love is lord of all" ***

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