Democratic Sentinel, Volume 8, Number 23, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 4 July 1884 — DAISY ARNOLD'S STRATAGEM. [ARTICLE]

DAISY ARNOLD'S STRATAGEM.

BY ALMA E. M’KEE.

CHAPTER L When the slumbering sea lies still, Unscirred by the breeze's breath, The stillness almost seems The pulseless calm ot death. i When I am far, far away, Where’er my bark mav be, As the soft, balmy air glides along, May it bring some tidings of thee. It was almost like a bit of Persian poetry, that little conservatory, in its glow and fragrance, and soft, delicious murmur of leaves, ornamented with azaleas, geraniums, pomegranates, orange blossoms, etc. Daisy Arnold looked not unlike a Persian enchantress, as she stood leaning one fair hand on a vinewreathed Psyche, her hair of burnished gold vying in brightness with the acacia plumes sweeping above her head, and a quiver in the white lids that hid her deep blue eyes. She was tall and large, with regular features, and a seaghell pink in her cheeks, and an unconscious hauteur in the poise of her dainty throat and shoulders. Daisy Arnold was born to be an heiress, and very fra efully she fulfilled the mission of er sunshiny life. She was not alone in the sunshine and fragrance of the conservatory. Eustace Emory was there, leaning against the stages, and somewhat impatiently twisting and untwisting a spray of jessamine with his nervous fingers. He was a tall, manly young fellow, with dark brown eyes and hair, and a face that you were involuntarily •compelled to admire and like. “I cannot see any sense in asking such impossibilities, Daisy,” he said, almost passionately. “Are they impossibilities, Eustace, dear?" “I cannot go to South America without you.” “Put you can, and you will.” “How can I go away there without you, and to be gone a whole year? It is impossible, Daisy. And sometimes, when you reason as you are doing now, I almost fancy that you do not care for me as you used to do." “Eustace!” “I know, darling, that it may sound unjust; but how can I help it?” | “But tell me, that I may understand your wish in this matter. What would you have me do?” “Marry me to-night, and go to South America with me in the vessel which qails to-morrow at 1 o’clock. That is all, Daisy 1” “A very reasonable wish,” laughed Daisy. “But you know, Eustace, that I never will marry you without your mother’s free sanction and approbation. ” “But she does not know you, Daisy.” “That makes no material difference. I shall never enter a family where I am not welcomed by each member.” “But just think, dearest, how utterly absurd and groundless mother’s objections are.” “Yes, she fancies me a frivolous, heartless woman of the world, with no knowledge beyond waltzing and flirthag. Eh, Eustace?” do not know what ever possessed me to allow you to read that unjust letBut, darling, forget the existence that letter, and follow me to the par•laage this night, where you will be made my own sweet wife. Will you not Eustace; and you must not seek to turn me from the path of duty. My dignity and pride would, also, suffer, if I married until your mother gives her free and full consent.” “And you say that you love me, * Daisy?” he asked, a tone of unrepressed anguish in bis voice. “Ah; dear heart; how well you can-

not know! Better than my own life. Were it not so I should not now have this ring upon my finger,” she said, as she tamed the sparkling diamond better to the light, that it might shine and sparkle in its dazzling beaaty. “Bat I cannot break my word, even for yon, Eustace, dear.” “You are unreasonable, Daisy. For we might cut this Gordian knot by the exercise of our own free will. You might become my own true wife now; and then I should have my prize with me on this long, long journey.” But Daisy Arnold only shook her golden head. “We must wait and see what goods the gods may provide in the future for us. And now leave me, Eustace, or I shall break down entirely. One o’clock to-morrow will come only too soon." “Yes, but I may not start to-morrow, as I have so many things to attend to ere I go.” “Oh, go, by all means, to-morrow, or you will be obliged to wait until another week, and your relative may be dead when you arrive.” “I have a companion to hunt for my mother. She will be entirely alone. Mrs. Forrest told me that she knew of some oue who would like the situation, and perfectly recommendable at the same time. But that is in Brooklyn, aDd I shall have to go to-morrow to see about her.” “Oh, do not let that hinder you, Eustace; I think I know of a young woman who would suit your mother, and I will send her to Cumbermere. ” “Can she read aloud and make jellies, and prepare delicacies, and sew ruffles and cap borders, and talk fluently ?” asked Eustace, with a smile. “She can do everything.” “And will she have patience and forbearance, and be as meek as Moses?” “At least, rest assured, she will try.” “She will suit, then, I think. But, Daisy, it seems to me that you are in haste to hurry me off.” “Oh, Enstace, dearest, you are misjudging me,” Bhe said, in a voioe which trembled in spite of all her self-control. “I want you to do your duty, that it all, to your sick uncle, and let his last hours be cheered by the touch of a gentle, loving hand. And, more than this, I should like you to learn the lesson of life’s patience and endurance. It will be sunshine after darkness if yon do not repine.” “My own little prophetess!” he said, drawing her to him and kißsing the unresisting lips. “I will go and strive to bear up manfully. But oh, my darling, it will be hard. You do not know what a sacrifice it will be for me.” “No greater than for me, my love,” she said, through her fast falling tears. “However, I have your love, and any man should be rich with that. But, oh, my darling, how often shall I remember this sunset, shining through the pomegranates and or.ange trees and your lovely face pressing mine!” “And I, too, Eustace, shall never forget it. But look forward, not backward, my brave dear, and all will come right in God’s own time.” One embrace and they parted.

CHAPTER 11. “Are you going away, Miss Daisy?” asked the little French maid, standing aghas* in her occupation of putting away fine laces and velvets in a satinlined box of veined sandalwood. “Yes. Prepare my trunks, Letty, or I will pack them myself.” “And when are we to start, Miss?” “I shall go alone, Letty. ” “And not take me, Miss Dajsy ? And who is to dress your hair, and look after your dresses, and tidy up your room ?” “I shall wait upon myself.” “But, Miss Daisy ” “Take away the silks and satins, Letty, and leave out my pink gingham, and muslins, and a wrapper or two,” said her mistress, imperatively. “There, now leave me alone.”

CHAPTER in. CUMRERMF.RE. Mrs. Emory sat alone in her cozyparlor at Cumbermere, with a great gray cat purring on a rug at her feet. She was musing on her far off-son, abstractedly, bearing and seeing nothing —until suddenly, looking up, she saw a pretty and quiet-looking young person, clad in a neat but cheap garb of brown, standing before her. “Well, what’s wanting?” curtly asked Mrs. Emory. “If you please, ma’am, I have come as companion. ” “Whom from?” she demanded, surveying the large blue eyes and golden bands of smoothly brushed hair distrustfully. “I heard in New York that Mrs. Emory wished a companion, and I oame to take the situation, with your permission, madam.” “Hem—m—m!” said the lady. “What is your name?” “Dorothy Arnold.” “Are you related to those Arnolds in New York?” “t am alone in the world, madam.” “Ah, that is well,” muttered the lady, sotto voce. “I couldn’t endure any one belonging to that waltzing Italian song-singing girl—but where are your references?” Dorothy Arnold drew a letter from her wicker basket. , “So Mrs. Forrest knows you, eh?” asked her inquisitress. “Yes, madam.” “Well,” commented the matron, glancing over the note, “this recommendation seems very satisfactory. I don’t know but you may come and try. The only objection that I can have is that you a v e altogether too pretty-look-ing, and I do not know as you are really to blame for that. Takeoff your things; you may as well begin at once. ” ***** More than a year has elapsed since the last events recorded in this story. The maples were bare and leafless. The snow lay white and deep in all the hollows and dimples by the-' roadside, and a sharp December wind was sweeping across the valley as the sun glowed with momentary redness through the woods upon the distant hills ere it sank out of sight. “How soon It grows dark!” said Mrs. Emory, with a little sigh. “That’s right, Dorothy—put on some more

wood and draw the curtains. Now we’re song l* And snng they were, with the shaded lamp glowing softly on the table, and the bright wood fire leaping and crackling np the chimney. Dorothy drew a low Ottoman to the side of Mrs. Emory, and sank comfortably down upon it. She made a very pretty figure as she sat there, her golden hair unfastened and falling in ringleis over her shoulders, dressed in bine, with a knot of bine ribbon tangled somewhere in her burnished hair, and her great blue eyes turned wistfully toward; the old lady’s face. “What was that you were saying about going back to New York, my love?” asked the lady, remorsefully. “I just want to tell you that yon can’t go. I can’t Jet you go. You belong to me.” She put one arm around Dorothy's neck, and drew the round cheek down upon her lap. “Do yon love me, Mrs. Emory?” asked the girl, earnestly. “Love you, darling?" I cannot endure the thought of getting along without yon. It is beyond possibility,” said the old lady, pathetically. “Can you not live with me, dear? Don’t leave me!” “If you wish it, dear Mrs. Emory, I will Lve with yon always. But I have something to tell yon. lam not ” “Oh, what is that ?” cried the lady, excitedly rising to her feet. “That is not altogether the noise of the maples. Listen! My boy’s step, ” and she rushed into the hall, to be joyfully caught to the breast of her son Eustace. “But you are not alone, mother?” he said, glancing through the partially closed door at Dorothy's profile on the wall. “No, my son. Let me introduce——” But, to his mother’s amazement and horror, her son was at that very moment embracing and pressing his mustached lips to Dorothy’s blushing face. “This is my promised bride, mother ?” “And my name is Dorothy as well as Daisy, dear Mrs. Emory,” exclaimed Daisy. “Please, will you not forgive me?” A reconciliation soon followed.