He watched the crimson blushes that dyed her fair young face––she never once raised her dark-blue eyes to his. The more Rex looked at her the more he admired this coy, bewitching, pretty little maiden. She made a fair picture under the boughs of the magnolia-tree, thick with odorous pink-and-white tinted blossoms, the sunbeams falling on her golden hair.
The sunshine or the gentle southern wind brought Rex no warning he was forging the first links of a dreadful tragedy. He thought only of the shy blushing beauty and coy grace of the young girl––he never dreamed of the hour when he should look back to that moment, wondering at his own blind folly, with a curse on his lips.
Again from over the trees came the sound of the great bell from the Hall.
“It is eight o’clock,” cried Daisy, in alarm. “Miss Pluma will be so angry with me.”
“Angry!” said Rex; “angry with you! For what?”
“She is waiting for the mull dresses,” replied Daisy.
It was a strange idea to him that any one should dare be angry with this pretty gentle Daisy.
“You will at least permit me to carry your basket as far as the gate,” he said, shouldering her burden without waiting for a reply. Daisy had no choice but to follow him. “There,” said Rex, setting the basket down by the plantation gate, which they had reached all too soon, “you must go, I suppose. It seems hard to leave the bright sunshine to go indoors.”
“I––I shall soon return,” said Daisy, with innocent frankness.
“Shall you?” cried Rex. “Will you return home by the same path?”