She pitied herself for her utter loneliness. There was no one to whom she could say one word of all that filled her heart and mind, no face to kiss, no heart to lean on; she was so completely alone. And this was the hour her fate was being decided for her. There was no sympathy for her, her isolation was bitter. She thought of all the heroines she had ever read of. Ah, no one could picture such a sad fate as was hers.
A bright thought flashed across her lonely little heart.
“His mother is there,” she sighed. “Ah, if I were to go to her and cry out: ‘Love me, love me! I am your son’s wife!’ would she cast me from her? Ah, no, surely not; a woman’s gentle heart beats in her breast, a woman’s tender pity. I will plead with her on my knees––to comfort me––to show me some path out of the pitiful darkness; I can love her because she is his mother.”
Daisy drew her breath quickly; the color glowed warmly on her cheek and lips; she wondered she had not thought of it before. Poor child! she meant to tell her all, and throw herself upon her mercy.
Her pretty, soft blue eyes, tender with the light of love, were swimming with tears. A vain hope was struggling in her heart––Rex’s mother might love her, because she worshiped her only son so dearly.
Would she send her forth from that home that should have sheltered her, or would she clasp those little cold fingers in Rex’s strong white ones, as she explained to him, as only a mother can, how sadly he had misjudged poor little Daisy––his wife?
No wonder her heart throbbed pitifully as she stole silently 106 across the wide, shadowy porch, and, quivering from head to foot, touched the bell that echoed with a resounding sound through the long entrance-hall.
“I would like to see Mrs. Lyon,” she said, hesitatingly, to the servant who answered her summons. “Please do not refuse me,” she said, clasping her little white hands pleadingly. “I must see her at once. It is a question of life or death with me. Oh, sir, please do not refuse me. I must see her at once––and––all alone!”