CHAPTER V.-THE DIVORCE.

He had expected to meet Daisy in the hall, but she was not in sight, and her mother, who appeared in response to the card he sent up, seemed confused and unnatural to such a degree that Guy asked in some alarm if anything had happened, and where Daisy was.

Nothing had happened,-that is,-well, nothing was the matter with Daisy, Mrs. McDonald said, only she was nervous and not feeling quite well that morning, and thought she better not come down. They were not expecting him so soon, she continued, and she regretted exceedingly that her husband was not there, but she had sent for him, and hoped he would come immediately. Had Mr. Thornton been to breakfast?

He had been to breakfast, and he did not understand at all what she meant; if Daisy could not come to him, he must go to her, he said, and he started for the door, when Mrs. McDonald sprang forward, and laying her hand on his arm, held him back, saying:

"Wait, Mr. Thornton: wait till husband comes-to tell you--"

"Tell me what!" Guy demanded, feeling sure now that something had befallen Daisy.

"Tell you-that-that,-Daisy is,-that he has,-that,-oh, believe me, it was not my wish at all, and I don't know now why it was done," Mrs. McDonald said, still trying to detain Guy and keep him in the room.

But her efforts were vain, for shaking off her grasp, Guy opened the hall door, and with a cry of joy caught Daisy herself in his arms.

In a state of fearful excitement and very curious to know what was pa.s.sing between her mother and Guy, she had stolen down stairs to listen, and had reached the door just as Guy opened it so suddenly.

"Daisy, darling, I feared you were sick," he cried, nearly smothering her with his caresses.

But Daisy writhed herself away from him, and putting up her hands to keep him off, cried out:

"Oh, Guy, Guy, you can't,-you mustn't. You must never kiss me again or love me any more, because I am,-I am not,--Oh, Guy, I wish you had never seen me; I am so sorry, too. I did like you. I,-I,-Guy,-Guy,-I am not your wife any more I Father has got a divorce!"

She whispered the last words, and then, affrighted at the expression of Guy's face, fled half way up the stairs, where she stood looking down upon him, while, with a face as white as ashes, he, too, stood gazing at her and trying to frame the words which should ask her what she meant.

He did not believe her literally; the idea was too preposterous, but he felt that some thing horrible had come between him and Daisy,-that in some way she was as much lost to him as if he had found her coffined for the grave, and the suddenness of the blow took from him for a moment his powers of speech, and he still stood looking at her when the street door opened, and a new actor appeared upon the scene in the person of Mr.

McDonald, who had hastened home in obedience to the message from his wife.

It was a principle of Mr. McDonald never to lose his presence of mind or his temper, or the smooth, low tone of voice he had cultivated years ago and practiced with so good effect.

And now, though he understood the state of matters at once and knew that Guy had heard the worst, he did not seem ruffled in the slightest degree, and his voice was just as kind and sweet as ever as he bade Guy good-morning, and advanced to take his hand. But Guy would not take it.

He had always disliked and distrusted Mr. McDonald, and he felt intuitively that whatever harm had befallen him had come through the oily-tongued man who stood smilingly before him. With a gesture of disgust he turned away from the offered hand, and in a voice husky with suppressed excitement, asked:

"What does all this mean, that when, after a separation of months, I come for my wife, I am told that she is not my wife,-that there has been a-a divorce?"

Guy had brought himself to name the horrid thing, and the very sound of the word served to make it more real and clear to his mind, and there were great drops of sweat, upon his forehead and about his mouth as he asked what it meant.

"Oh, Guy, don't feel so badly. Tell him, father, I did not do it," Daisy cried, as she stood leaning over the stair-rail looking down at the wretched man.

"Daisy, go to your room. You should not have seen him at all," Mr.

McDonald said, with more sternness of manner than was usual for him.

Then, turning to Guy, he continued:

"Come in here, Mr. Thornton, where we can be alone while I explain to you what seems so mysterious now."

They went together into the little parlor, and for half an hour or more the sound of their voices was distinctly heard as Mr. McDonald tried to explain what there really was no explanation or excuse for. Daisy was not contented at Elmwood, and though she complained of nothing she was not happy as a married woman, and was glad to be free again. That was all, and Guy understood at last that Daisy was his no longer; that the law which was a disgrace to the State in which it existed had divorced him from his wife without his knowledge or consent, and for no other reason than incompatibility of temperament, and a desire on Daisy's part to be free from the marriage tie. Not a word had been said of Guy's altered fortunes, but he felt that his comparative poverty was really the cause of this great wrong, and for a few moments resentment and indignation prevailed over every other feeling; then, when he remembered the little blue-eyed, innocent-faced girl whom he had loved so much and thought so good and true, he laid his head upon the sofa-arm and groaned bitterly, while the man who had ruined him sat coolly by, citing to him many similar cases where divorces had been procured without the knowledge of the absent party. It was a common,-a very common thing, he said, and reflected no disgrace where there was no criminal charge.

Daisy was too young and childish anyway, and ought not to have been married for several years, and it was really quite as much a favor to Guy as a wrong. He was free again,-free to marry if he liked,-he had taken care to see to that, so--

"Stop!" Guy thundered out, rousing himself from his crouching att.i.tude upon the sofa. "There is a point beyond which you shall not go. Be satisfied with taking Daisy from me, and do not insult me with talk of a second marriage. Had I found Daisy dead it would have hurt me less than this fearful wrong you have done. I say _you_, for I charge it all to _you_. Daisy could have had no part in it, and I ask to see her and hear from her own lips that she accepts the position in which you and your diabolical laws have placed her before I am willing to give her up. Call her, will you?"

"No, Mr. Thornton," Mr. McDonald replied. "To see Daisy would be useless, and only excite you more than you are excited now. You cannot see her."

"Yes he will, father. If Guy wants to see me, he shall."

It was Daisy herself who spoke, and who a second time had been acting the part of listener. Going up to Guy she knelt down beside him, and laying her arms across his lap, said to him.

"What is it, Guy what is it you wish to say to me?"

The sight of her before him in all her girlish beauty, with that soft, sweet expression on the face raised so timidly to his, unmanned Guy entirely, and clasping her in his arms he wept pa.s.sionately for a moment, while he tried to say:

"Oh, Daisy, my darling, tell me it is a horrid dream,-tell me you are still my wife, and go with me to the home I have tried to make so pleasant for your sake. It is not like Elmwood, but I will sometime have one handsomer even than that, and I'll work so hard for you. Oh, Daisy, tell me you are sorry for the part you had in this fearful business, if indeed you had a part, and I'll take you back so gladly. Will you, Daisy; will you be my wife once more? I shall never ask you again. This is your last chance with me. Reflect before you throw it away."

Guy's mood was changing a little, because of something he saw in Daisy's face,-a drawing back from him when he spoke of marriage.

"Daisy must not go back with you; I shall not suffer that," Mr. McDonald said, while Daisy, still keeping her arms around Guy's neck, where she had put them when he drew her to him, replied:

"Oh, Guy! I can't go with you; but I shall like you always, and I'm sorry for you. I never wanted to be married; but if I must, I'd better have married _Tom_, or that old Chicago man; they would not have felt so badly, and I'd rather hurt them than you."

The utter childishness of the remark roused Guy, and, with a gesture of impatience, he put her from him, and rising to his feet, said angrily:

"This, then, is your decision, and I accept it; but, Daisy, if you have in you a spark of true womanhood, you will some time be sorry for this day's work; while _you_!" and he turned fiercely upon Mr.

McDonald,-"words cannot express the contempt I feel for you; and know, too, that I understand you fully, and am certain that were I the rich man I was when you gave your daughter to me, you would not have taken her away. But I will waste no more words upon you. You are a _villain_!

and Daisy is"--His white lips quivered a little as he hesitated a moment, and then added: "Daisy _was_ my wife."

Then, without another word, he left the house, and never turned to see the white, frightened face which looked after him so wistfully until a turn in the street hid him from view.

CHAPTER VI.-EXTRACTS FROM DIARIES.

_Extract 1st.-Mr. McDonald's._

May --.

Well, that matter is over, and I can't say I am sorry, for the expression in that Thornton's eye I do not care to meet a second time.

There was mischief in it, and it made one think of six-shooters and cold lead. I never quite indorsed the man,-first, because he was not as rich as I would like Daisy's husband to be; and second, because even had he been a millionaire it would have done _me_ no good. That he did not marry Daisy's family, he made me fully understand; and for any good his money did me, I was as poor after the marriage as before. Then he must needs lose all he had in that foolish way; and when I found that Daisy was not exceedingly in love with married life, it was natural that, as her father, I should take advantage of the laws of the State in which I live, especially as _Tom_ is growing rich so fast. On the whole, I have done a good thing. Daisy is free, with ten thousand dollars which Thornton settled on her; for, of course, I shall prevent her giving that back as she is determined to do, saying it is not hers, and she will not keep it. It is hers and she shall keep it, and Tom will be a millionaire if that gold mine proves as great a success as it seems likely to do; and I can manage Tom, only I am sorry for Thornton who evidently was in love with Daisy; and, as I said before, I've done a nice thing after all.

_Extract 2nd.-Miss Thornton's Diary._

June 30th, 18-.

To-day, for the first time, we have hopes that my brother will live; but, oh! how near he has been to the gates of death since that night when he came back to us from the West, with a fearful look on his face, and a cruel wound in his heart. I say us, for Julia Hamilton has been with me all through the dreadful days and nights when I watched to see Guy's life go out and know I was left alone. She was with me when I was getting ready for Daisy, and waiting for Guy to bring her home,-not to Elmwood,-that dear old place is sold, and strangers walk the rooms I love so well,-but here to the brown cottage on the hill, which, if I had never had Elmwood, would seem so pleasant to me.

And it is pleasant here, especially in Daisy's room, which we shall never use, for the door is shut and bolted, and it seems each time I pa.s.s it as if a dead body were lying hidden there. Had Guy died I would have laid him there and sent for that false creature to come and see her work. I promised her so much, but not from any love, for my heart was full of bitterness that night when I turned her from the door out into the rain. I shall never tell Guy that, lest he should soften toward her, and I would not have her here again for all the world contains. And yet I did like her, and was looking forward to her return with a good deal of pleasure. Julia had spoken many a kind word for her, had pleaded her extreme youth as an excuse for her faults, and had led me to hope for better things when time had matured her somewhat and she had become accustomed to our new mode of life.