ouble which
bid fair to dethrone her reason.

At times she would clasp his hands, calling him Uncle John, begging
him piteously to tell her how she could die. And she talked
incoherently, too, of a dark, handsome woman's face, that had come
between her and some lost treasure.

Then a grave look would come into the detective's face. He had seen
many such cases, and they always ended badly, he said to himself. She
had such an innocent face, so fair, so childish, he could not make up
his mind whether she was sinned against or had been guilty of a hidden
sin herself.

Love must have something to do with it, he thought, grimly. Whenever
he saw such a hopeless, despairing look on a young and beautiful face
he always set it down as a love case in his own mind, and in nine
cases out of ten he was right.

"Ah! it is the old, old story," he muttered. "A pretty, romantic
school-girl, and some handsome, reckless lover," and something very
much like an imprecation broke from his lips, thorough man of the
world though he was, as he ruminated on the wickedness of men.

Two days before the marriage of Rex and Pluma was to be solemnized,
poor little Daisy awoke to consciousness, her blue eyes resting on the
joyous face of Mrs. Tudor, who bent over her with bated breath, gazing
into the upraised eyes, turned so wonderingly upon her.

"You are to keep perfectly quiet, my dear," said Mrs. Tudor,
pleasantly, laying her hands on Daisy's lips as she attempted to
speak. "You must not try to talk or to think; turn your face from the
light, and go quietly to sleep for a bit, then you shall say what you
please."

Daisy wondered who the lady was, as she obeyed her like an obedient,
tired child--the voice seemed so motherly, so kind, and so soothing,
as she lay there, trying to realize how she came there. Slowly all her
senses struggled into life, her memory came back, her mind and brain
grew clear. Then she remembered walking into the cool, shady garden,
and the dizziness which seemed to fall over her so suddenly. "I must
have fainted last night," she thought. She also remembered Pluma
bending so caressingly over her young husband in the moonlight, and
that the sight had almost driven her mad, and, despite her efforts to
suppress her emotion, she began to sob aloud.

Mrs. Tudor hurried quickly to the bedside. She saw at once the ice
from the frozen fountain of memory had melted.

"If you have any great sorrow on your mind, my dear, and