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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
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