"Rex," wailed his mother, feebly, gazing into his eyes with a suspense heart-breaking to witness, "don't refuse me this the first prayer I had ever made. If you mean to refuse it would be kinder far to plunge a dagger into my heart and let me die at once. You can not refuse." One trembling hand she laid on his breast, and with the other caressed his face. "You are good and gentle of heart, Rex; the prayers of your dying mother will touch you. Answer me, my son; tell me my proud old race shall not die with you, and I will rest calmly in my grave." The cold night-wind fanned his pallid brow, and the blood coursed through his veins like molten lead. He saw the tears coursing down her pale, withered cheeks. Ah, God! was it brave to speak the words which must bring despair and death to her? Was it filial to send his mother to her grave with sorrow and sadness in her heart? Could he thrust aside his mother's loving arms and resist her dying prayer? Heaven direct him, he was so sorely tried. "Comfort me, Rex," she whispered, "think of how I have loved you since you were a little child, how I used to kiss your rosy little face and dream what your future would be like. It comes back to me now while I plead to you with my fast-fleeting breath. Oh, answer me, Rex." All the love and tenderness of the young man's impulsive heart was stirred by the words. Never was a man so fearfully tried. Rex's handsome face had grown white with emotion; deep shadows came into his eyes. Ah, what could it matter now? His hopes were dead, his heart crushed, yet how could he consent? "Oh, Heaven, Rex!" she cried, "what does that look on your face mean? What is it?" The look of terror on her face seemed to force the mad words from his lips, the magnetic gaze seemed to hold him spellbound. He bent over hie mother and laid his fresh, brave young face on the cold, white face of his dying mother. "Promise me, Rex," she whispered. "I promise, mother!" he cried. "God help me; if it will make your last moments happier, I consent." "Heaven bless you, my noble son!" whispered the quivering voice. "You have taken the bitter sting from death, and filled my heart with gratitude. Some day you will thank me for it, Rex." They were uttered! Oh, fatal words! Poor Rex, wedded and parted, his love-dream broken, how little he knew of the bitter grief which was to accrue from that promise wrung from his white lips. Like one in a dream he heard her murmur the name of Pluma Hurlhurst. The power of speech seemed denied him; he knew what she meant. He bowed his head on her cold hands. "I have no heart to give her," he said, brokenly. "My heart is with Daisy, my sweet little lost love." Poor Rex! how little he knew Daisy was at that self-same moment watching with beating heart the faint light of his window through the branches of the trees--Daisy, whom he mourned as dead, alas! dead to him forever, shut out from his life by the rash words of that fatally cruel promise. CHAPTER XXI.