pursue would be to screen himself behind the magnolia
branches until the vehicle should pass. The next instant a pair of
prancing ponies, attached to a basket phaeton, in which sat a young
girl, who held them well in check, dashed rapidly up the road. Rex
could scarcely repress an exclamation of surprise as he saw the
occupant was his young hostess, Pluma Hurlhurst of Whitestone Hall.
She drew rein directly in front of the sleeping girl, and Rex Lyon
never forgot, to his dying day, the discordant laugh that broke from
her red lips--a laugh which caused poor Daisy to start from her
slumber in wild alarm, scattering the snowy contents of the basket in
all directions.

For a single instant their eyes met--these two girls, whose lives were
to cross each other so strangely--poor Daisy, like a frightened bird,
as she guessed intuitively at the identity of the other; Pluma,
haughty, derisive, and scornfully mocking.

"You are the person whom Miss Brooks sent to Whitestone Hall with my
mull dresses some three hours since, I presume. May I ask what
detained you?"

Poor Daisy was quite crestfallen; great tear-drops trembled on her
long lashes. How could she answer? She had fallen asleep, wooed by the
lulling breeze and the sunshine.

"The basket was so heavy," she answered, timidly, "and I--I--sat down
to rest a few moments, and--"

"Further explanation is quite unnecessary," retorted Pluma, sharply,
gathering up the reins. "See that you have those things at the Hall
within ten minutes; not an instant later."

Touching the prancing ponies with her ivory-handled whip, the haughty
young heiress whirled leisurely down the road, leaving Daisy, with
flushed face and tear-dimmed eyes, gazing after her.

"Oh, dear, I wish I had never been born," she sobbed, flinging herself
down on her knees, and burying her face in the long, cool grass. "No
one ever speaks a kind word to me but poor old Uncle John, and even he
dare not be kind when Aunt Septima is near. She might have taken this
heavy basket in her carriage," sighed Daisy, bravely lifting the heavy
burden in her delicate arms.

"That is just what I think," muttered Rex Lyon from his place of
concealment, savagely biting his lip.

In another moment he was by her side.

"Pardon me," he said, deferentially raising his cap from his glossy
curls, "that basket is too heavy for your slender arms. Allow me to
assist you."

In a moment the young girl stood up, and made the pretti