have
revealed my love in every word, tone and glance, but I can not awaken
one sentiment in his proud, cold heart."

When she remembered the words, "He pressed them to his lips, murmuring
passionate, loving words over them," she almost cried aloud in her
fierce, angry passion. She knew, just as well as though she had
witnessed him herself, that those wild flowers were daisies, and she
knew, too, why he had kissed them so passionately. She saw the sun
shining on the trees, the flower-beds were great squares and circles
of color, the fountains sparkled in the sunlight, and restless
butterflies flitted hither and thither.

For Pluma Hurlhurst, after that hour, the sunshine never had the same
light, the flowers the same color, her face the same smile, or her
heart the same joyousness.

Never did "good and evil" fight for a human heart as they struggled in
that hour in the heart of the beautiful, willful heiress. All the
fire, the passion, and recklessness of her nature were aroused.

"I will make him love me or I will die!" she cried, vehemently. "The
love I long for shall be mine. I swear it, cost what it may!"

She was almost terribly beautiful to behold, as that war of passion
raged within her.

She saw a cloud of dust arising in the distance. She knew it was Rex
returning, but no bright flush rose to her cheek as she remembered
what Miss Raynor had said of the wild flowers he had so rapturously
caressed--he had given a few rank wild flowers the depths of a
passionate love which he had never shown to her, whom he had asked to
be his wife.

She watched him as he approached nearer and nearer, so handsome, so
graceful, so winning, one of his white hands carelessly resting on the
spirited animal's proudly arched, glossy neck, and with the other
raising his hat from his brown curls in true courtly cavalier fashion
to her, as he saw her standing there, apparently awaiting him on the
rose-covered terrace.

He looked so handsome and lovable Pluma might have forgotten her
grievance had she not at that moment espied, fastened to the lapel of
his coat, a cluster of golden-hearted daisies.

That sight froze the light in her dark, passionate eyes and the
welcome that trembled on her scarlet lips.

He leaped lightly from the saddle, and came quickly forward to meet
her, and then drew back with a start.

"What is the matter, Pluma?" he asked, in wonder.

"Nothing," she replied, keeping her eyes fastened as if fascinated