Basil Hurlhurst slowly put back the curtain, and stepped into the room, clasping his long-lost daughter to his breast. Daisy’s arms were clinging round his neck, and her golden head rested on his shoulder. She was sobbing hysterically, John Brooks, deeply affected, following after.
Like a stag at bay, the woman’s courage seemed to return to her, as she stood face to face after all those years with the husband whom she had so cruelly deceived––and the proud-faced man who stood beside him––whose life she had blighted with the keenest and most cruel blow of all.
Basil Hurlhurst was the first to break the ominous silence.
“It is unnecessary to tell you we have heard all,” he said, slowly. “I shall not seek redress for your double crime. Leave this locality at once, or I may repent the leniency of my decision. I hold you guiltless, Pluma,” he added, gently. “You are not my child, yet I have not been wanting in kindness toward you. I shall make every provision for your future comfort with your father,” he said, indicating John Brooks, who stood pale and trembling at his side.
“Pluma, my child,” cried John Brooks, brokenly, extending his arms.
But the scornful laugh that fell from her lips froze the blood in his veins.
“Your child!” she shrieked, mockingly; “do not dare call me that again. What care I for your cotton fields, or for Whitestone Hall?” she cried, proudly, drawing herself up to her full height. “You have always hated me, Basil Hurlhurst,” she cried, turning haughtily toward him. “This is your triumph! Within the next hour I shall be Rex Lyon’s wife.”
She repeated the words with a clear, ringing laugh, her flaming eyes fairly scorching poor little Daisy’s pale, frightened face.
“Do you hear me, Daisy Brooks!” she screamed. “You loved Rex Lyon, and I have won him from you. You can queen it over Whitestone Hall, but I shall not care. I shall be queen of Rex’s heart and home! Mine is a glorious revenge!”
She stopped short for want of breath, and Basil Hurlhurst interrupted her.