All the night long Daisy clung to the hands that held hers, begging and praying her not to leave her alone, until the poor old lady was quite overcome by the fatigue of continued watching beside her couch. Rest or sleep seemed to have fled from Daisy’s bright, restless eyes.
“Don’t go away,” she cried; “everybody goes away. I do not belong to any one. I am all––all––alone,” she would sigh, drearily.
Again she fancied she was with Rex, standing beneath the magnolia boughs in the sunshine; again, she was clinging to his arm––while some cruel woman insulted her––sobbing pitifully upon his breast; again, she was parting from him at the gate, asking him if what they had done was right; then she was in some school-room, begging piteously for some cruel letter; then out on the waves in the storm and the on-coming darkness of night.
The sisters relieved one another at regular intervals. They had ceased to listen to her pathetic little appeals for help, or the wild cries of agony that burst from the red feverish lips as she started up from her slumbers with stifled sobs, moaning out that the time was flying; that she must escape anywhere, anywhere, while there were still fifteen minutes left her.
She never once mentioned Stanwick’s name, or Septima’s, but called incessantly for Rex and poor old Uncle John.
“Who in the world do you suppose Rex is?” said Matilda, thoughtfully. “That name is continually on her lips––the last word she utters when she closes her eyes, the first word to cross her lips when she awakes. That must certainly be the handsome young fellow she met at the gate. If he is Rex I do not wonder the poor child loved him so. He was the handsomest, most noble-looking, frank-faced young man I have ever seen; and he took on in a way that made me actually cry when I told him she was married. He would not believe it, until I called the child and she told him herself it was the truth. I was sorry from the bottom of my heart that young 73 fellow had not won her instead of this Stanwick, they were so suited to each other.”
“Ah,” said Ruth, after a moment’s pause, “I think I have the key to this mystery. She loves this handsome Rex, that is evident; perhaps they have had a lovers’ quarrel, and she has married this one on the spur of the moment through pique. Oh, the pretty little dear!” sighed Ruth. “I hope she will never rue it.”