figure standing leaning against the drooping branches.

"I will inquire the way," he said to himself, drawing rein beside her.
"Can you tell me, madame, if this is the most direct road leading to
Glengrove and that vicinity? I am looking for a hostelry near it. I
seem to have lost my way. Will you kindly direct me?" he asked, "or to
the home of Mr. Rex Lyon?"

The voice sounded strangely familiar to Daisy. She was dimly conscious
some one was speaking to her. She raised her face up and gazed at the
speaker. The cold, pale moonlight fell full upon it, clearly revealing
its strange, unearthly whiteness, and the bright flashing eyes, gazing
dreamily past the terror-stricken man looking down on her, with white,
livid lips and blanched, horror-stricken face. His eyes almost leaped
from their sockets in abject terror, as Lester Stanwick gazed on the
upturned face by the roadside.

"My God, do I dream?" he cried, clutching at the pommel of his saddle.
"Is this the face of Daisy Brooks, or is it a specter, unable to sleep
in the depths of her tomb, come back to haunt me for driving her to
her doom?"

CHAPTER XXVI.

Rex and Pluma talked for some time out in the moonlight, then Rex
excused himself, and on the plea of having important business letters
to write retired to the library.

For some minutes Pluma leaned thoughtfully against the railing. The
night was still and clear; the moon hung over the dark trees; floods
of silvery light bathed the waters of the glittering sea, the sleeping
flowers and the grass, and on the snowy orange-blossoms and golden
fruit amid the green foliage.

"I shall always love this fair southern home," she thought, a bright
light creeping into her dark, dazzling eyes. "I am Fortune's
favorite," she said, slowly. "I shall have the one great prize I covet
most on earth. I shall win Rex at last. I wonder at the change in him.
There was a time when I believed he loved me. Could it be handsome,
refined, courteous Rex had more than a passing fancy for Daisy
Brooks--simple, unpretentious Daisy Brooks? Thank God she is dead!"
she cried, vehemently. "I would have periled my very soul to have won
him."

Even as the thought shaped itself in her mind, a dark form stepped
cautiously forward.

She was not startled; a passing wonder as to who it might be struck
her. She did not think much about it; a shadow in the moonlight did
not frighten her.

"Pluma!" called a low, cautious voice, "come dow