ng, quivering sigh, at the bare possibility. "Little Daisy was as
pure in thought, word and deed as an angel. God pity me!" he cried.
"Have patience with me for my harshness toward my little love. I did
not give my little love even the chance of explaining the situation,"
he groaned. Then his thoughts went back to Pluma.

He could not doubt the truth of the statement Stanwick offered, and
the absolute proofs of its sincerity. He could not curse her for her
horrible deceit, because his mother had loved her so, and it was done
through her blinding, passionate love for him; and he buried his face
in his hands, and wept bitterly. It was all clear as noonday to him
now why Daisy had not kept the tryst under the magnolia-tree, and the
cottage was empty. She must certainly have attempted to make her
escape from the school in which they placed her to come back to his
arms.

"Oh, dupe that I have been!" he moaned. "Oh, my sweet little innocent
darling!" he cried. "I dare not hope Heaven has spared you to me!"

Now he understood why he had felt such a terrible aversion to Pluma
all along. She had separated him from his beautiful, golden-haired
child-bride.

His eyes rested on the certificate which bore Pluma's name, also his
own. He tore it into a thousand shreds.

"It is all over between us now," he cried. "Even if Daisy were dead, I
could never take the viper to my bosom that has dealt me such a
death-stinging blow. If living, I shall search the world over till I
find her; if dead, I shall consecrate my life to the memory of my
darling, my pure, little, injured _only_ love."

He heard a low rap at the door. The servant never forgot the young
man's haggard, hopeless face as he delivered Basil Hurlhurst's
message.

"Ah, it is better so," cried Rex to himself, vehemently, as the man
silently and wonderingly closed the door. "I will go to him at once,
and tell him I shall never marry his daughter. Heaven help me! I will
tell him all."

Hastily catching up the letter, Rex walked, with a firm, quick tread,
toward the study, in which the strangest tragedy which was ever
enacted was about to transpire.

* * * * *

"I am your mother, Pluma," repeated the woman, slowly. "Look into my
face, and you will see every lineament of your own mirrored there. But
for me you would never have enjoyed the luxuries of Whitestone Hall,
and this is the way you repay me! Is there no natural instinct