“Rex,” she cried, holding out her hands to him with a fluttering, uncertain movement that stirred the perfumed laces of the exquisite robe she wore, and the jewels on her white, nervous hands––“Rex, I am here!”
CHAPTER XXXIII.
We must now return to Daisy, whom we left standing in the heart of the forest, the moonlight streaming on her upturned face, upon which the startled horseman gazed.
He had not waited for her to reply, but, touching his horse hastily with his riding-whip, he sped onward with the speed of the wind.
In that one instant Daisy had recognized the dark, sinister, handsome face of Lester Stanwick.
“They have searched the pit and found I was not there. He is searching for me; he has tracked me down!” she cried, vehemently, pressing her little white hands to her burning head.
Faster, faster flew the little feet through the long dew-damp grasses.