“I do not understand,” he said, slowly, yet gently. “Why do you, a stranger, come to me on my daughter’s wedding-night with such words as these? What reason can you offer why this marriage should not proceed?”
He could not tell whether she had heard his words or not, she stood before him so silent, her little hands working nervously together. She looked wistfully into his face, and she drew her slender figure up to its full height, as she replied, in a low, passionate, musical voice:
“Mr. Lyon can not marry your daughter, sir, for he has a living wife.”
“Mr. Lyon has a wife?” repeated Basil Hurlhurst, literally dumbfounded with amazement. “In Heaven’s name, explain yourself!” he cried, rising hastily from his chair and facing her.
The agitation on his face was almost alarming. His grand 183 old face was as white as his linen. His eyes were full of eager, painful suspense and excitement. With a violent effort at self-control he restrained his emotions, sinking back in his arm-chair like one who had received an unexpected blow.
Daisy never remembered in what words she told him the startling truth. He never interrupted her until she had quite finished.
“You will not blame Rex,” she pleaded, her sweet voice choking with emotion; “he believes me dead.”
Basil Hurlhurst did not answer; his thoughts were too confused. Yes, it was but too true––the marriage could not go on. He reached hastily toward the bell-rope.
“You will not let my––Rex know until I am far away,” she cried, piteously, as she put her marriage certificate in Mr. Hurlhurst’s hand.
“I am going to send for Rex to come here at once,” he made answer.