ome Rex Lyon, no one admired more than
the young heiress of Whitestone Hall. The county papers were in
ecstasies; they discussed the magnificent preparations at the Hall,
the number of bride-maids, the superb wedding-presents, the
arrangements for the marriage, and the ball to be given in the
evening.

The minister from Baltimore who was to perform the ceremony was
expected to arrive that day. That all preparations might be completed
for the coming morrow, Rex had gone down to meet the train, and Pluma
strolled into the conservatory, to be alone for a few moments with
her own happy thoughts.

Out on the green lawns happy maidens were tripping here and there,
their gay laughter floating up to her where she stood.

Every one seemed to be making the most of the happy occasion.
Lawn-tennis parties here and croquet-parties there, and lovers
strolling under the blossoming trees or reclining on the rustic
benches--it was indeed a happy scene.

Pluma leaned her dark head against the fragrant roses. The breeze, the
perfume of the flowers, all told one story to the impassioned
girl--the story of her triumph and her mad, reckless love.

She gathered a spray of the fairest flowers, and fastened them in the
bodice of her dress.

"To-morrow I shall have won the one great prize I covet," she
murmured, half aloud. "After to-morrow I can defy Lester Stanwick to
bring one charge against me. I shall be Rex's wife--it will avail him
nothing."

"Speaking of angels, you often hear 'the rustle of their wings.' I
believe there is an old adage of that sort, or something similar,"
said a deep voice beside her, and turning around with a low cry she
saw Lester Stanwick himself standing before her.

For one moment her lips opened as though to utter a piercing cry, but
even the very breath seemed to die upon them, they were so fixed and
still.

The flowers she held in her hand fell into the fountain against which
she leaned, but she did not heed them.

Like one fascinated, her eyes met the gaze of the bold, flashing dark
ones bent so steadily upon her.

"You thought you would escape me," he said. "How foolish and blind you
are, my clever plotter. Did you think I did not see through your
clever maneuverings? There shall be a wedding to-morrow, but you shall
marry me, instead of handsome, debonair Rex. You can not fly from your
fate."

She set her lips firmly together. She had made a valiant struggle. She
would defy him to the bitter