ee me," said Rex, proudly, wondering if Pluma's father had heard that
gossip--among the guests--that he did not love his daughter. "I do not
know that I have offended the old gentleman in any way," he told
himself. "If it comes to that," he thought, "I can do no more than
confess the truth to him--the whole truth about poor little Daisy--no
matter what the consequences may be."

Fate was playing at cross-purposes with handsome Rex, but no subtle
warning came to him.

CHAPTER XXXI.

The preparations for the wedding went steadily on. It was to be a
magnificent affair. Inside and outside of Whitestone Hall fairly
glowed with brilliancy and bloom.

Rex's deportment toward his promised bride was exemplary; he did his
best to show her every possible attention and kindness in lieu of the
love which should have been hers.

There seemed to be no cloud in Pluma Hurlhurst's heaven.

She had no warning of the relentless storm-cloud that was gathering
above her head and was so soon to burst upon her in all its fury.

She walked among her guests with a joyous, happy smile and the air of
a queen. Why should she not? On the morrow she would gain the prize
she coveted most on earth--she would be Rex's wife.

Her father had gone unexpectedly to Baltimore, and the good old
housekeeper had been laid to rest, but in the excitement and bustle
attending the great coming event these two incidents created little
comment.

Mirth and gayety reigned supreme, and the grim old halls resounded
with laughter and song and gay young voices from morning until night.

Pluma, the spoiled, petted, willful heiress, was fond of excitement
and gay throngs.

"Our marriage must be an event worthy of remembrance, Rex," she said,
as they walked together through the grounds the morning before the
wedding. "We must have something new and novel. I am tired of
brilliant parlors and gas-light. I propose we shall have a beautiful
platform built, covered with moss and roses, beneath the blossoming
trees, with the birds singing in their boughs, upon which we shall be
united. What do you think of my idea--is it not a pretty one?"

"Your ideas are always poetical and fanciful," said Rex, glancing down
into the beautiful brilliant face beside him. "My thoughts are so dull
and prosy compared with yours, are you not afraid you will have a very
monotonous life-companion?"

"I am going to try my best to win you from that cold reserve. There
must not be o