Part 38 (2/2)

All was over between her and Roseleaf! Nothing could bring them together again! And she did not mean to divulge the cause of her remaining away a day and a night--that day and night that had been expected to precede and succeed her marriage.

s.h.i.+rley rose slowly. He bent his eyes earnestly on the father and daughter, and his voice was firm.

”When one is dismissed, there is nothing for him but to go. I regret sincerely what I said last night, when the horror of this thing came suddenly upon me. I love you, Daisy, and I know by what you have told me so often that you love me. Are the foolish utterances of a distracted man to separate us forever? Conceive the agony I was in when at the very moment I was to start for my wedding I heard that my bride could not be found! If I had not adored you pa.s.sionately would I have been on the verge of madness, saying and doing things without reason and excuse? I am ordered to leave you, my sweetheart, and if you do not bid me stay I can only obey the mandate. But I love you more at this moment than ever.

All I ask to know is why you made this flight. If your answer is satisfactory there will be nothing on my part to prevent our marriage.”

Archie Weil wished that he could have led this young man aside for just a moment, to show him that this was no time to make demands or exact conditions. He had no doubt that Daisy would explain everything, a little later. All that was wanted now was a revocation of the dismissal that Mr. Fern had p.r.o.nounced. But he could not control the stormy ocean upon which they rode.

”You seem singularly obtuse,” came the shaking voice of the old gentleman. ”It is not for _you_ to dictate terms. We want to see you no more. Is not that clear enough?”

It certainly did not seem to be. Roseleaf lingered, wondering if these were really to be the last phrases he would hear in that house--in that very room where he had expected to hear the words that would make this sweet girl his for life.

”Daisy,” he said, addressing himself once more to the silent figure, ”I cannot believe you have so soon learned to hate me!”

She looked up at the solemn face and then dropped her eyes again.

”You will tell me where you were?” he pleaded. ”It is my right to know.”

She looked up again, with a wild horror in her features.

”Oh, I _cannot_!” she cried. ”I _never_ can tell you. I never _can_!”

This statement shocked more than one person in that room. Up to this moment Mr. Fern had only understood, from the disjointed expressions of his daughter when she entered the house, that she did not wish to be questioned at that time. She had also explained to him that she had sent the telegram to make the coast clear of all except her parent, as she did not wish to meet others on her first arrival. When he had urged the duty of informing Mr. Weil she had acquiesced, not dreaming that Mr.

Roseleaf would be in his company.

And now the old man felt that there was more in the answer she had given than he had suspected--something very like a confession of wrong. Mr.

Weil felt this also, though he could not believe Daisy meant anything very heinous, and s.h.i.+rley Roseleaf had a dagger in his breast as he reflected what interpretation might be given to her words.

”You _cannot_!” he repeated, ignoring the position in which he stood, and the presence of the others. ”_You must!_”

Mr. Weil made haste to allay the storm that he saw was still rising.

”Let us be considerate,” he said. ”Miss Fern is not well. She is tired and nervous. To-morrow, when she has rested, she will be only too glad to tell us the history of her strange disappearance.”

Mr. Fern looked uneasily from his daughter to the gentlemen and back again. He loved her dearly, and in this new danger that seemed to threaten her--danger perhaps even to her reputation--he wanted more than ever to s.h.i.+eld her from all harm. Whatever had happened she was his child. She should not be baited and badgered by any one. But Daisy did not give him time to speak in her defense. She answered Mr. Weil almost as soon as the question left his lips.

”It cannot be. Not to-morrow, nor at any other time, can I tell you--or any person--anything. You must never ask me. It would merely give me pain, and heaven knows I shall suffer enough without it. Let me say a little more, for this is the last time I shall ever speak of these things. To you, Mr. Weil, I want to give my warmest thanks. You have been a true friend to me and mine. I do not mean to seem ungrateful, but I can tell you no more. And as for you, s.h.i.+rley,” she turned with set eyes to the novelist, ”you know what we were to each other. It is all ended now. Even if you had expressed no disbelief in me when you heard I had disappeared, it would be just the same. I hold no hard feelings against you, whatever my father may say. It is simply good-by. I shall not remain here much longer. Do not let this make you unhappy any longer than you can help. Now, you must excuse me, for my strength is gone.”

Daisy had been much longer saying these things than the reader will be in perusing them. They had come in gasps, as from one in severe pain, and there were pauses of many seconds. When she had finished she rose, and leaning heavily on the feeble old man who escorted her, walked slowly out of the room.

”Well, this ends it, then,” said Roseleaf, gloomily, following the fair figure with heavy eyes.

”No, s.h.i.+rley, it does not; it _shall_ not!” replied Weil. ”There is some dreadful mistake here, and a little time will clear it away. Have patience.”

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