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diff --git a/37467.txt b/37467.txt deleted file mode 100644 index ba471c9..0000000 --- a/37467.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,3511 +0,0 @@ - DAISY THORNTON - - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost -no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it -under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this -eBook or online at http://www.gutenberg.org/license. - -Title: Daisy Thornton - -Author: Mrs. Mary J. Holmes - -Release Date: September 17, 2011 [EBook #37467] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: US-ASCII - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DAISY THORNTON *** - - - - -Produced by Roger Frank, Mary Meehan, and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net. - - BY MRS. MARY J. HOLMES, - - AUTHOR OF - _Tempest and Sunshine.--'Lena Rivers.--Darkness and Daylight._ - _--Marian Grey.--English Orphans.--Hugh Worthington.--Millbank._ - _--Ethelyn's Mistake.--Edna Browning, Etc., Etc._ - - "Those whom God has joined together let no man put asunder." - - NEW YORK: - Copyright, 1878, by - _G. W. Carleton & Co., Publishers_. - - LONDON: S. LOW & CO. - - MDCCCLXXX. - - _Samuel Stodder_, - _Stereotyper_, - _90 Ann Street, N.Y._ - - - _Trow_ - _Printing and Bookbinding_ - _Company._ - - ---- - - - - -CONTENTS - - - CHAPTER I.--EXTRACTS FROM MISS FRANCES THORNTON'S JOURNAL. - CHAPTER II.--EXTRACTS FROM GUY'S JOURNAL. - CHAPTER III.--EXTRACTS FROM DAISY'S JOURNAL. - CHAPTER IV.--AUTHOR'S STORY. - CHAPTER V.--THE DIVORCE. - CHAPTER VI.--EXTRACTS FROM DIARIES. - CHAPTER VII.--FIVE YEARS LATER. - CHAPTER VIII.--DAISY'S LETTER. - CHAPTER IX.--DAISY, TOM, AND THAT OTHER ONE. - CHAPTER X.--MISS MCDONALD. - CHAPTER XI.--AT SARATOGA. - CHAPTER XII.--IN THE SICK ROOM. - CHAPTER XIII.--DAISY'S JOURNAL. - - ---- - - DAISY THORNTON - - - - -CHAPTER I.--EXTRACTS FROM MISS FRANCES THORNTON'S JOURNAL. - - - Elmwood, June 15th, 18--. - -I have been working among my flowers all the morning, digging, weeding -and transplanting, and then stopping a little to rest. My roses are -perfect beauties this year, while my white lilies are the wonder of the -town, and yet my heart was not with them to-day, and it was nothing to -me that those fine people from the Towers came into the grounds while I -was at work, "just to see and admire," they said, adding that there was -no place in Cuylerville like Elmwood. I know that, and Guy and I have -been so happy here, and I loved him so much, and never dreamed what was -in store for me until it came suddenly like a heavy blow. - -Why should he wish to marry, when he has lived to be thirty years old -without a care of any kind, and has money enough to allow him to indulge -his taste for books, and pictures, and travel, and is respected by -everybody, and looked up to as the first man in town, and petted and -cared for by me as few brothers have ever been petted and cared for? and -if he must marry, why need he take a child of sixteen, whom he has only -known since Christmas, and whose sole recommendation, so far as I can -learn, is her pretty face? - -Daisy McDonald is her name, and she lives in Indianapolis, where her -father is a poor lawyer, and as I have heard, a scheming, unprincipled -man. Guy met her last winter in Chicago, and fell in love at once, and -made two or three journeys West on "important business," he said, and -then, some time in May, told me he was going to bring me a sister, the -sweetest little creature, with beautiful blue eyes and wonderful hair. I -was sure to love her, he said, and when I suggested that she was very -young, he replied that her youth was in her favor, as we could more -easily mould her to the Thornton pattern. - -Little he knows about girls; but then he was perfectly infatuated and -blind to everything but Daisy's eyes, and hair, and voice, which is so -sweet and winning that it will speak for her at once. Then she is so -dainty and refined, he said, and he asked me to see to the furnishing of -the rooms on the west side of the house, the two which communicate with -his own private library, where he spends a great deal of time with his -books and writing. The room adjoining this was to be Daisy's boudoir or -parlor, where she could sit when he was occupied and she wished to be -near him. This was to be fitted up in blue, as she had expressed a wish -to that effect, and he said no expense must be spared to make it as -pretty and attractive as possible. So the walls were frescoed and -tinted, and I spent two entire days in New York hunting for a carpet of -the desirable shade, which should be right both in texture and design. - -Guy was exceedingly particular, and developed a wonderful proclivity to -find fault with everything I admired. Nothing was quite the thing for -Daisy, until at last a manufacturer offered to get a carpet up which was -sure to suit, and so that question was happily settled for the time -being. Then came the furniture, and unlimited orders were given to the -upholsterer to do his best, and matters were progressing finely when -order number two came from the little lady, who was sorry to seem so -fickle, but her mamma, whose taste was perfect, had decided against -_all_ blue, and would Guy please furnish the room with drab trimmed with -blue? - -"It must be a very delicate shade of drab," she wrote, and lest he -should get too intense an idea, she would call it a _tint_ of a _shade_ -of drab, or, better yet, a _hint_ of a tint of a shade of drab would -describe exactly what she meant, and be so entirely unique, and lovely, -and _recherche_. - -Guy never swears, and seldom uses slang of any kind, but this was a -little too much, and with a most rueful expression of countenance he -asked me "what in thunder I supposed a hint of a tint of a shade of drab -could be?" - -I could not enlighten him, and we finally concluded to leave it to the -upholsterer, to whom Guy telegraphed in hot haste, bidding him hunt New -York over for the desired shade. Where he found it I never knew; but -find it he did, or something approximating to it,--a faded, washed-out -color, which seemed a cross between wood-ashes and pale skim milk. A -sample was sent up for Guy's approval, and then the work commenced -again, when order number three came in one of those dainty little -billets which used to make Guy's face radiant with happiness. Daisy had -changed her mind again and gone back to the blue, which she always -preferred as most becoming to her complexion. - -Guy did not say a single word, but he took the next train for New York, -and staid there till the furniture was done and packed for Cuylerville. -As I did not know where he was stopping, I could not forward him two -letters which came during his absence, and which bore the Indianapolis -post-mark. I suspect he had a design in keeping his address from me, -and, whether Daisy changed her mind again or not, I never knew. - -The furniture reached Elmwood the day but one before Guy started for his -bride, and Julia Hamilton, who was then at the Towers, helped me arrange -the room, which is a perfect little gem, and cannot fail to please, I am -sure. I wonder Guy never fancied Julia Hamilton. Oh, if he only had done -so, I should not have as many misgivings as I now have, nor dread the -future so much. Julia is sensible and twenty years old, and lives in -Boston, and comes of a good family, and is every way suitable,--but when -did a man ever choose the woman whom his sister thought suitable for -him? And Guy is like other men, and this is his wedding day; and after a -trip to Montreal, and Quebec, and Boston, and New York, and Saratoga, -they are coming home, and I am to give a grand reception, and then -subside, I suppose, into the position of the "old maid sister who will -be dreadfully in the way." - - ---- - - September 15th, 18--. - -Just three months since I opened my journal, and, on glancing over what -I wrote on Guy's wedding day, I find that in one respect at least I was -unjust to the little creature who is now my sister, and calls me Miss -Frances. Not by a word or look has she shown the least inclination to -assume the position of mistress of the house, nor does she seem to think -me at all in the way; but that she considers me quite an antediluvian I -am certain, for, in speaking of something which happened in 1820, she -asked if I remembered it! And I only three years older than Guy! But -then she once called him a dear old grandfatherly man, and thought it a -good joke that on their wedding tour she was mistaken for his daughter. -She looks so young,--not sixteen even; but with those childish blue -eyes, and that innocent, pleading kind of expression, she never can be -old. She is very beautiful, and I can understand in part Guy's -infatuation, though at times he hardly knows what to do with his pretty -plaything. - -It was the middle of August when they came from Saratoga, sorely against -her wishes, as I heard from the Porters, who were at the same hotel, and -who have told me what a sensation she created, and how much attention -she received. Everybody flattered her, and one evening, when there was -to be a hop at Congress Hall, she received twenty bouquets from as many -different admirers, each of whom asked her hand for the first dance. And -even Guy tried some of the square dances,--with poor success, I imagine, -for Lucy Porter laughed when she told me of it, and the mistakes he -made; and I do not wonder, for my grave, scholarly Guy must be as much -out of place in a ball-room as his little, airy, doll of a wife is in -her place when there. I can understand just how she enjoyed it all, and -how she hated to come to Elmwood, for she did not then know the kind of -home she was coming to. - -It was glorious weather for August, and a rain of the previous day had -washed all the flowers and shrubs, and freshened up the grass on the -lawn, which was just like a piece of velvet, while everything around the -house seemed to laugh in the warm afternoon sunshine as the carriage -came up to the door. Eight trunks, two hat-boxes, and a guitar-case had -come in the morning, and were waiting the arrival of their owner, whose -face looked eagerly out at the house and its surroundings, and it seemed -to me did not light up as much as it should have done under the -circumstances. - -"Why, Guy, I always thought the house was brick," I heard her say, as -the carriage door was opened by the coachman. - -"No, darling,--wood. Ah, there's Fan," was Guy's reply, and the next -moment I had her in my arms. - -Yes, literally in my arms. She is such a wee little thing, and her face -is so sweet, and her eyes so childish and wistful and her voice so -musical and flute-like that before I knew what I was doing I lifted her -from her feet and hugged her hard, and said I meant to love her, first -for Guy's sake, and then for her own. Was it my fancy, I wonder, or did -she really shrink back a little and put up her hands to arrange the -bows, and streamers, and curls floating away from her like the flags on -a vessel on some gala day. - -She was very tired, Guy said, and ought to lie down before dinner. Would -I show her to her room with Zillah, her maid? Then for the first time I -noticed a dark-haired girl who had alighted from the carriage and stood -holding Daisy's traveling-bag and wraps. - -"Her waiting-maid, whom we found in Boston," Guy explained, when we were -alone. "She is so young and helpless, and wanted one so badly, that I -concluded to humor her for a time, especially as I had not the most -remote idea how to pin on those wonderful fixings which she wears. It is -astonishing how many things it takes to make up the _tout ensemble_ of a -fashionable woman," Guy said, and I thought he glanced with an unusual -amount of curiosity and interest at my plain cambric wrapper and smooth -hair. - -Indeed he has taken it upon himself to criticise me somewhat; thinks I -am too slim, as he expresses it, and that my head might be improved if -it had a more snarly appearance. Daisy, of course, stands for his model, -and her hair does not look as if it had been combed in a month, and yet -Zillah spends hours over it. She,--that is, Daisy,--was pleased with her -boudoir, and gave vent to sundry exclamations of delight when she -entered it, skipped around like the child she is, and said she was so -glad it was blue instead of that indescribable drab, and that room is -almost the only thing she has expressed an opinion about since she has -been here. She does not talk much except to Zillah, and then in French, -which I do not understand. If I were to write just what I think I should -say that she had expected a great deal more grandeur than she finds. At -all events, she takes the things which I think very nice and even -elegant as a matter of course, and if we were to set up a style of -living equal to that of the queen's household, I do believe she would -act as if she had been accustomed to it all her life, or, at least, that -it was what she had a right to expect. I know she imagines Guy a great -deal richer than he is; and that reminds me of something which troubles -me. - -Guy has given his name to Dick Trevylian for one hundred thousand -dollars. To be sure it is only for three months, and Dick is worth three -times that amount, and is an old friend and every way reliable and -honest. And still I did not want Guy to sign. I wonder why it is that -women always jump at a conclusion without any apparent reason. Of -course, I could not explain it, but when Guy told me what he was going -to do, I felt in an instant as if he would have it all to pay, and told -him so, but he only laughed at me and called me nervous and fidgety, and -said a friend was good for nothing if he could not lend a helping hand -occasionally. Perhaps that is true, but I was uneasy and shall be glad -when the time is up and the paper canceled. - -Our expenses since Daisy came are double what they were before, and if -we were to lose one hundred thousand dollars now we should be badly off. -Daisy is a luxury Guy has to pay for, but he pays willingly and seems to -grow more and more infatuated every day. "She is such a sweet-tempered, -affectionate little puss," he says; and I admit to myself that she is -sweet-tempered, and that nothing ruffles her, but about the affectionate -part I am not so certain. Guy would pet her and caress her all the time -if she would let him, but she won't. - -"O, please don't touch me. It is too warm, and you muss my dress," I -have heard her say more than once when he came in and tried to put his -arm about her or take her in his lap. - -Indeed, her dress seems to be uppermost in her mind, and I have known -her to try on half a dozen different ones before she could decide in -which she looked the best. No matter what Guy is doing, or how deeply he -is absorbed in his studies, she makes him stop and inspect her from all -points, and give his opinion, and Guy submits in a way perfectly -wonderful to me who never dared to disturb him when shut up with his -books. - -Another thing, too, he submits to which astonishes me more than anything -else. It used to annoy him terribly to wait for anything or anybody. -_He_ was always ready, and expected others to be, but Daisy is just the -reverse. Such dawdling habits I never saw in any person. With Zillah to -help her dress she is never ready for breakfast, never ready for dinner, -never ready for church, never ready for anything, and that, in a -household accustomed to order and regularity, does put things back so, -and make so much trouble. - -"Don't wait breakfast for me, please," she says, when she has been -called for the third or fourth time, and if she can get us to sit down -without her she seems to think it all right, and that she can be as long -as she likes. - -I wonder that it never occurs to her that to keep the breakfast table -round, as we must, makes the girls cross and upsets the kitchen -generally. I hinted as much to her once when the table stood till ten -o'clock, and she only opened her great blue eyes wonderingly, and said -mamma had spoiled her she guessed, for it did not use to matter at home -when she was ready, but she would try and do better. She bade Zillah -call her at _five_ the next morning, and Zillah called her, and then she -was a half hour late. Guy doesn't like that, and he looked daggers on -the night of the reception, when the guests began to arrive before she -was dressed! And she commenced her toilet too, at three o'clock! But she -was wondrously beautiful in her bridal robes, and took all hearts by -storm. She is perfectly at home in society, and knows just what to do -and say so long as the conversation keeps in the fashionable round of -chit-chat, but when it drifts into deeper channels she is silent at -once, or only answers in monosyllables. I believe she is a good French -scholar, and she plays and sings tolerably well, and reads the novels as -they come out, but of books and literature, in general, she is wholly -ignorant, and if Guy thought to find in her any sympathy with his -favorite studies and authors he is terribly mistaken. - -And yet, as I write all this, my conscience gives me sundry pricks as if -I were wronging her, for in spite of her faults I like her ever so much, -and like to watch her flitting through the house and grounds like the -little fairy she is, and I hope the marriage may turn out well, and that -she will improve with age, and make Guy very happy. - - - - -CHAPTER II.--EXTRACTS FROM GUY'S JOURNAL. - - - September 20th, 18--. - -Three months married. Three months with Daisy all to myself, and yet not -exactly to myself either, for of her own accord she does not often come -where I am, unless it is just as I have shut myself up in my room, -thinking to have a quiet hour with my books. Then she generally appears, -and wants me to ride with her, or play croquet or see which dress is -most becoming, and I always submit and obey her as if I were the child -instead of herself. - -She _is_ young, and I almost wonder her parents allowed her to marry. -Fan hints that they were mercenary, but if they were they concealed the -fact wonderfully well, and made me think it a great sacrifice on their -part to give me Daisy. And so it was; such a lovely little darling, and -so beautiful. What a sensation she created at Saratoga! and still I was -glad to get away, for I did not fancy some things which were done there. -I did not like so many young men around her, nor her dancing those -abominable round dances which she seemed to enjoy so much. "Square -dances were poky," she said, even after I tried them with her for the -sake of keeping her out of that vile John Britton's arms. I have an -impression that I made a spectacle of myself, hopping about like a -magpie, but Daisy said, "I did beautifully," though she cried because I -put my foot on her lace flounce and tore it, and I noticed that after -that she always had some good reason why I should not dance again. "It -was too hard work for me; I was too big and clumsy," she said, "and -would tire easily. Cousin Tom was big and he never danced." - -By the way, I have some little curiosity with regard to that Cousin Tom -who wanted Daisy so badly, and who, because she refused him, went off to -South America. I trust he will stay there. Not that I am or could be -jealous of Daisy, but it is better for cousins like Tom to keep away. - -Daisy is very happy here, though she is not quite as enthusiastic over -the place as I supposed she would be, knowing how she lived at home. The -McDonalds are intensely respectable, so she says; but her father's -practice cannot bring him over two thousand a year, and the small brown -house they live in, with only a grass-plot in the rear and at the side, -is not to be compared with Elmwood, which is a fine old place, every one -admits. It has come out gradually that she thought the house was brick -and had a tower and billiard-room, and that we kept a great many -servants, and had a fish-pond on the premises, and velvet carpets on -every floor. I would not let Fan know this for the world, as I want her -to like Daisy thoroughly. - -And she does like her, though this little pink and white pet of mine is -a new revelation to her, and puzzles her amazingly. She would have been -glad if I had married Julia Hamilton, of Boston; but those Boston girls -are too strong-minded and positive to suit me. Julia is nice, it is -true, and pretty, and highly educated, and Fan says she has brains and -would make a splendid wife. As Fan had never seen Daisy she did not, of -course, mean to hint that she had not brains, but I suspect even now she -would be better pleased if Julia were here, but I should not. Julia is -self-reliant; Daisy is not. Julia has opinions of her own and asserts -them, too; Daisy does not. Julia can sew and run a machine; Daisy -cannot. Julia gets up in the morning and goes to bed at night; Daisy -does neither. Nobody ever waits for Julia; everybody waits for Daisy. -Julia reads scientific works and dotes on metaphysics; Daisy does not -know the meaning of the word. In short, Julia is a strong, high-toned, -energetic, independent woman, while Daisy is--a little innocent, -confiding girl, whom I would rather have without brains than all the -Boston women like Julia with brains! - -And yet I sometimes wish she did care for books, and was more interested -in what interests me. I have tried reading aloud to her an hour every -evening, but she generally goes to sleep or steals up behind me to look -over my shoulder and see how near I am to the end of the chapter, and -when I reach it she says: "Excuse me, but I have just thought of -something I must tell Zillah about the dress I want to wear to-morrow. -I'll be back in a moment;" and off she goes and our reading is ended for -that time, for I notice she never returns. The dress is of more -importance than the book, and I find her at ten or eleven trying to -decide whether black or white or blue is most becoming to her. Poor -Daisy! I fear she had no proper training at home. Indeed, she told me -the other day that from her earliest recollection she had been taught -that the main object of her life was to marry young and to marry money. -Of course she did not mean anything, but I would rather she had not said -it, even though I know she refused a millionaire for me who can hardly -be called rich as riches are rated these days. If Dick Trevylian should -fail to meet his payment I should be very poor, and then what would -become of Daisy, to whom the luxuries which money buys are so necessary? - -[Here followed several other entries in the journal, consisting mostly -of rhapsodies on Daisy, and then came the following:] - - ---- - - December 15th, 18--. - -Dick _has_ failed to meet his payments, and that too after having -borrowed of me twenty thousand more! Is he a villain, and did he know -all the time that I was ruining myself? I cannot think so when I -remember the look on his face as he told me about it and swore to me -solemnly that up to the very last he fully expected relief from England, -where he thought he had a fortune. - -"If I live I will pay you sometime," he said; but that does not help me -now. I am a ruined man. Elmwood must be sold, and I must work like a dog -to earn my daily bread. For myself I would not mind it much, and Fan, -who, woman-like, saw it in the distance and warned me of it, behaves -nobly; but it falls hard on Daisy. - -Poor Daisy! She never said a word when I told her the exact truth, but -she went to bed and cried for one whole day. I am so glad I settled ten -thousand dollars on her when we were married. No one can touch that, and -I told her so; but she did not say a word or seem to know what I meant. -Talking of anything serious, or expressing her opinion, was never in her -line, and she has not of her own accord spoken with me on the subject, -and when I try to talk with her about our future she shudders and cries, -and says, "Please don't! I can't bear it! I want to go home to mother!" - -And so it is settled that while we are arranging matters she is to visit -her mother and perhaps not return till spring, when I hope to be in a -better condition financially than I am at present. - -One thing Daisy said, which hurt me cruelly, and that was: "If I must be -a poor man's wife I might as well have married Cousin Tom, who wanted me -so badly!" To do her justice, however, she added immediately: "But I -like you the best." - -I am glad she said that. It will be something to remember when she is -gone, or rather when I return without her, as I am going to Indianapolis -with her, and then back to the dreary business of seeing what I have -left and what I can do. I have an offer for the house, and shall sell it -at once; but where my home will be next, I do not know, neither would I -care so much if it were not for Daisy,--poor little Daisy!--who thought -she had married a rich man. The only tears I have shed over my lost -fortune were for her. Oh, Daisy, Daisy! - - - - -CHAPTER III.--EXTRACTS FROM DAISY'S JOURNAL. - - - Elmwood, September 20th, 18--. - -Daisy McDonald Thornton's journal,--presented by my husband, Mr. Guy -Thornton, who wishes me to write something in it every day; and who, -when I asked him what I should write, said: "Your thoughts, and -opinions, and experiences. It will be pleasant for you sometime to look -back upon your early married life and see what progress you have made -since then, and will help you to recall incidents you would otherwise -forget. A journal fixes things in your mind, and I know you will enjoy -it, especially as no one is to see it, and you can talk to it freely as -to a friend." - -That is what Guy said, and I wrote it right down to copy into the book -as a kind of preface or introduction. I am not much pleased with having -to keep a journal, and maybe I shall coax Zillah to keep it for me. I -don't care to _fix_ things in my mind. I don't like things _fixed_, -anyway. I'd rather they would lie round loose, as they surely would, if -I had not Zillah to pick them up. She is a treasure, and it is almost -worth being married to have a waiting-maid,--and that reminds me that I -may as well begin back at the time when I was not married, and did not -want to be either, if we had not been so poor, and obliged to make so -many shifts to keep up appearances and seem richer than we were. - -My maiden name was Margaret McDonald, and I am seventeen next New Year's -Day. My father is of Scotch descent, and a lawyer; and mother was a -Barnard, from New Orleans, and has some very good blood in her veins. I -am an only child, and very handsome,--so everybody says; and I should -know it if they did not say it, for can't I see myself in the glass? And -still I really do not care so much for my good looks except as they -serve to attain the end for which father says I was born. - -Almost the first thing I can remember is of his telling me that I must -marry young and marry rich, and I promised him I would, provided I could -stay at home with mother just the same after I was married. Another -thing I remember, which made a lasting impression, and that is the -beating father gave me for asking before some grand people staying at -our house, "Why we did not always have beefsteak and hot muffins for -breakfast, instead of baked potatoes and bread and butter?" - -I must learn to keep my mouth shut, he said, and not tell all I knew; -and I profited by the lesson, and that is one reason, I suppose, why I -so rarely say what I think or express an opinion either favorable or -otherwise. - -I do not believe I am deceitful, though all my life I have seen my -parents try to seem what they are not; that is, try to seem like rich -people, when sometimes father's practice brought him only a few hundreds -a year, and there was mother and myself and Tom to support. Tom is my -cousin,--Tom McDonald--who lived with us and fell in love with me, -though I never tried to make him. But I liked him ever so much, even if -he did use to tease me horridly, and put horn-bugs in my shoes, and -worms on my neck, and jack-o'lanterns in my room, and tip me off his -sled into the snow; for with all his teasing, he had a great, kind, -unselfish heart, and I shall never forget that look on his face when I -told him I could not be his wife. I did not like him as he liked me, and -I did not want to be married any way. I could not bear the thought of -being tied up to some man, and if I did marry it must be to somebody who -was rich. That was in Chicago, and the night before Tom started for -South America, where he was going to make his fortune, and he wanted me -to promise to wait for him, and said no one would ever love me as well -as he did. - -I could not promise, because, even if he had all the gold mines in Peru, -I did not care to spend my days with him,--to see him morning, noon and -night, and all the time. It is a good deal to ask of a woman, and I told -him so, and he cried so hard,--not loud, but in a pitiful kind of way, -which hurt me cruelly. I hear that sobbing sometimes now in my sleep, -and it's like the moan of the wind round that house on the prairie where -Tom's mother died. Poor Tom! I gave him a lock of my hair and let him -kiss me twice, and then he went away, and after that old Judge Burton -offered himself and his million to me; but I could not endure his bald -head a week, I should hate him awfully and I told him no; and when -father seemed sorry and said I missed it, I told him I would not sell -myself for gold alone,--I'd run away first and go after Tom, who was -young and just bearable. Then Guy Thornton came, and--and--well, he took -me by storm, and I liked him better than any one I had ever seen, though -I would rather have him for my friend,--my beau, whom I could order -around and get rid of when I pleased, but I married him. Everybody said -he was rich, and father was satisfied and gave his consent, and bought -me a most elaborate trousseau. I wondered then where the money came -from. Now, I know that _Tom_ sent it. He has been very successful with -his mine, and in a letter to father sent me a check for fifteen hundred -dollars. Father would not tell me that, but mother did, and I felt -worse, I think, than when I heard the sobbing. Poor Tom! I never wear -one of the dresses now without thinking who paid for it and wrote in his -letter, "I am working like an ox for Daisy." Poor Tom! - - ---- - - October 1st, 18--. - -I rather like writing in my journal after all, for here I can say what I -think, and I guess I shall not let Zillah make the entries. Where did I -leave off? Oh, about poor Tom. - -I have had a letter from him. He had just heard of my marriage, and only -said, "God bless you, my darling little Daisy, and may you be very -happy." - -I burned the letter up and cried myself into a headache. I wish people -would not love me so much. I do not deserve it, for I know I am not what -they think me to be. There's Guy, my husband, more to be pitied than -Tom, because, you see, he has got me; and privately, between you and me, -old journal, I am not worth the getting, and I know it perhaps better -than any one else. I do not think I am really mean or bad, but there -certainly is in my make-up something different from other women. I like -Guy and believe him to be the best man in the world, and I would rather -he kissed me than Tom, but do not want any body to kiss me, especially a -man, and Guy is so affectionate, and his great hands are so hot, and -muss my fluted dresses so terribly. - -I guess I don't like to be married anyway. If one only could have the -house, and the money, and the nice things without the husband! That's -wicked, of course, when Guy is so kind and loves me so much. I wish he -didn't, but I would not for the world let him know how I feel. I did -tell him that I was not the wife he ought to have, but he would not -believe me, and father was anxious, and so I married him, meaning to do -the best I could. It was splendid at Saratoga, only Guy danced so -ridiculously and would not let me waltz with those young men. As if I -cared a straw for them or any body besides Guy and Tom! - -It is very pleasant here at Elmwood, but the house is not as grand as I -supposed, and there are not as many servants, and the family carriage is -awful pokey. Guy is to give me a pretty little phaeton on my birthday. - -I like Miss Frances very much, only she is such a raging housekeeper, -and keeps me all the while on the alert. I don't believe in these raging -housekeepers who act as if they wanted to make the bed before you are -up, and eat breakfast before it is ready. I don't like to get up in the -morning any way, and I don't like to hurry, and I am always behind, and -keeping somebody waiting, and that disturbs the people here very much. -Miss Frances seems really cross sometimes, and even Guy looks sober and -disturbed when he has waited for me half an hour or more. I guess I must -try and do better, for both Guy and Miss Frances are as kind as they can -be, but then I am not one bit like them, and have never been accustomed -to anything like order and regularity. At home things came round any -time, and I came with them, and that suited me better than being -married, only now I have a kind of settled feeling, and am Mrs. Guy -Thornton, and Guy is good looking, and highly esteemed, and very -learned, and I can see that the young ladies in the neighborhood envy me -for being his wife. I wonder who is that Julia Hamilton, Miss Frances -talks about so much, and why Guy did not marry her instead of me. She is -very learned, and gets up in the morning and flies round and is always -ready, and reads scientific articles in the _Westminster Review_, and -teaches in Sunday-school, and thinks it wicked to waltz, and likes to -discuss all the mixed-up horrid questions of the day,--religion and -politics and science and everything. I asked Guy once why he did not -marry her instead of a little goose like me, and he said he liked the -little goose the best, and then kissed me, and crumpled my white dress -all up. Poor Guy! I wish I did love him as well as he does me, but it's -not in me to love any body very much. - - ---- - - December 20th, 18--. - -A horrible thing has happened, and I have married a poor man after all! -Guy signed for somebody and had to pay, and Elmwood must be sold, and we -are to move into a stuffy little house, without Zillah, and with but one -girl, and I shall have to take care of my own room as I did at home, and -make my own bed and pick up my things and shall never be ready for -dinner. It is too dreadful to think about, and I was sick for a week -after Guy told me of it. I might as well have married Tom, only I like -Guy the best. He looks so sorry and sad that I sometimes forget myself -to pity him. I am going home to mother for a long, long time,--all -winter may be,--and I shall enjoy it so much. Guy says I have ten -thousand dollars of my own, and the interest on that will buy my -dresses, I guess, and get something for Miss Frances, too. She is a -noble woman, and tries to bear up so bravely. She says they will keep -the furniture of my blue room for me, if I want it; and I do, and I mean -to have Guy send it to Indianapolis, if he will. Oh, mother, I am so -glad I am coming back, where I can do exactly as I like,--eat my -breakfast on the washstand if I choose, and sit up all night long. I -almost wish,--no, I don't, either. I like Guy ever so much. It's being -tied up that I don't like. - - - - -CHAPTER IV.--AUTHOR'S STORY. - - -Guy Thornton was not a fool, and Daisy was not a fool, though they have -thus far appeared to great disadvantage. Beth had made a mistake; Guy in -marrying a child whose mind was unformed; and Daisy in marrying at all, -when her whole nature was in revolt against matrimony. But the mistake -was made, and Guy had failed and Daisy was going home, and the New -Year's morning when she was to have received Guy's gift of the phaeton -and ponies, found her at the little cottage in Indianapolis, where she -at once resumed all the old indolent habits of her girlhood, and was -happier than she had been since leaving home as a bride. - -On Mr. McDonald, the news of his son-in-law's failure fell like a -thunderbolt and affected him more than it did Daisy. Shrewd, ambitious -and scheming, he had for years planned for his daughter a moneyed -marriage, and now she was returned upon his hands for an indefinite -time, with her naturally luxurious tastes intensified by recent -indulgence, and her husband a ruined man. It was not a pleasant picture -to contemplate, and Mr. McDonald's face was cloudy and thoughtful for -many days, until a letter from Tom turned his thoughts into a new -channel and sent him with fresh avidity to certain points of law with -which he had of late years been familiar. If there was one part of his -profession in which he excelled more than another it was in the divorce -cases which had made Indiana so notorious. Squire McDonald, as he was -called, was well known to that class of people who, utterly ignoring -God's command, seek to free themselves from the bonds which once were so -pleasant to wear, and as he sat alone in his office with Tom's letter in -his hand, and read how rapidly that young man was getting rich, there -came into his mind a plan, the very thought of which would have made Guy -Thornton shudder with horror and disgust. - -Daisy had not been altogether satisfied with her brief married life, and -it would be very easy to make her more dissatisfied, especially as the -home to which she would return must necessarily be very different from -Elmwood. Tom was destined to be a millionaire. There was no doubt of -that, and he could be moulded and managed as Mr. McDonald had never been -able to mould or manage Guy. But everything pertaining to Tom must be -kept carefully out of sight, for the man knew his daughter would never -lend herself to such a diabolical scheme as that which he was revolving, -and which he at once put in progress, managing so adroitly that before -Daisy was at all aware of what she was doing, she found herself the -heroine of a divorce suit, founded really upon nothing but a general -dissatisfaction with married life, and a wish to be free from it. -Something there was about incompatibility of temperament and -uncongeniality and all that kind of thing which wicked men and women -parade before the world when weary of the tie which God has said shall -not be torn asunder. - -It is not our intention to follow the suit through any of its details, -and we shall only say that it progressed rapidly, while poor -unsuspicious Guy was working hard to retrieve in some way his lost -fortune, and to fit up a pleasant home for the childish wife who was -drifting away from him. He had missed her so much at first, even while -he felt it a relief to have her gone when his business matters needed -all his time and thought. It was some comfort to write to her, but not -much to receive her letters, for Daisy did not excel in epistolary -composition, and after a few weeks her letters were short and far apart, -and, as Guy thought, constrained and studied in their tone, and when, -after she had been absent from him for three months or more his longing -to see her was so great that he decided upon a visit of a few days to -the West, and apprized her of his intention, asking if she would be glad -to see him, he received in reply a telegram from Mr. McDonald telling -him to defer his journey as Daisy was visiting some friends and would be -absent for an indefinite length of time. There was but one more letter -from her, and that was dated at Vincennes, and merely said that she was -well, and Guy must not feel anxious about her or take the trouble to -come to see her, as she knew how valuable his time must be, and would -far rather he should devote himself to his business than bother about -her. The letter was signed, "Hastily, Daisy," and Guy read it over many -times with a pang in his heart he could not define. - -But he had no suspicion of the terrible blow in store for him, and went -on planning for her comfort just the same; and when at last Elmwood was -sold and he could no longer stay there, he hired a more expensive house -than he could afford, because he thought Daisy would like it better, and -then, with his sister Frances, set himself to the pleasant task of -fitting it up for Daisy. There was a blue room with a bay window just as -there had been in Elmwood, only it was not so pretentious and large. But -it was very pleasant, and had a door opening out upon what Guy meant -should be a flower garden in the summer, and though he missed his little -wife sadly, and longed so much at times for a sight of her beautiful -face and the sound of her sweet voice, he put all thought of himself -aside and said he would not bring her back until the May flowers were in -blossom and the young grass bright and green by the blue room door. - -"She will have a better impression of her new home then," he said to his -sister, "and I want her to be happy here and not feel the change too -keenly." - -Julia Hamilton chanced to be in town staying at the Towers, and as she -was very intimate with Miss Thornton the two were a great deal together, -and it thus came about that Julia was often at the brown cottage and -helped to settle the blue room for Daisy. - -"If it were only you who was to occupy it," Frances said to her one -morning when they had been reading together for an hour or more in the -room they both thought so pretty. "I like Daisy, but somehow she seems -so far from me. Why, there's not a sentiment in common between us." - -Then, as if sorry for having said so much, she spoke of Daisy's -marvelous beauty and winning ways, and hoped Julia would know and love -her ere long, and possibly do her good. - -It so happened that Guy was sometimes present at these readings and -enjoyed them so much that there insensibly crept into his heart a wish -that Daisy was more like the Boston girl whom he had mentally termed -strong-minded and stiff. - -"And in time, perhaps, she maybe," he thought. "I mean to have Julia -here a great deal next summer, and with two such women for companions as -Julia and Fan, Daisy cannot help but improve." - -And so at last when the house was settled and the early spring flowers -were in bloom Guy started westward for his wife. He had not seen her now -for months, and it was more than two weeks since he had heard from her, -and his heart beat high with joyful anticipation as he thought just how -she would look when she came to him, shyly and coyly, as she always did, -with that droop in her eye-lids and that pink flush in her cheeks. He -would chide her a little at first, he said, for having been so poor a -correspondent, especially of late, and after that he would love her so -much, and shield her so tenderly from every want or care that she should -never feel the difference in his fortune. - -Poor Guy,--he little dreamed what was in store for him just inside the -door where he stood ringing one morning in May, and which, when at last -it was opened, shut in a very different man from the one who who went -through it three hours later, benumbed and half-crazed with bewilderment -and surprise. - - - - -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 -passing 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 attitude -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 passionately 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 -pass 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. - -And so I waited for her and Guy, and wondered I did not hear from them, -and felt so glad and happy when I received the telegram, "Shall be home -to-night." It was a bright day in May, but the evening set in cool, with -a feeling of rain in the air, and I had a fire kindled in the parlor and -in Daisy's room, for I remembered how she used to crouch on the rug -before the grate and watch the blaze floating up the chimney with all -the eagerness of a child. Then, although it hurt me sorely, I went to -Simpson, who bought our carriage, and asked that it might be sent to the -station so that Daisy should not feel the difference at once. And Jerry, -our old coachman, went with it, and waited there just as Julia and I -waited at home, for Julia had promised to stay a few days on purpose to -see Daisy. - -The train was late that night, an hour behind time, and the spring rain -was falling outside and the gas was lighted within when I heard the -sound of wheels stopping at the door and went to meet my brother. But -only my brother. There was no Daisy with him. He came in alone, with -such an awful look on his white face as made me cry out with alarm. - -"What is it, Guy, and where is Daisy?" I asked, as he staggered against -the bannister, where he leaned heavily. - -He did not answer my question, but said, "Take me to my room," in a -voice I would never have known for Guy's. I took him to his room and -made him lie down, and brought him a glass of wine, and then, when he -was strong enough to tell it, listened to the shameful story, and felt -that henceforth and forever I must and would hate the woman who had -wounded my Guy so cruelly. - -And still there is some good in her,--some sense of right and justice, -as was shown by what she did when Guy was at the worst of the terrible -fever which followed his coming home. I watched him constantly. I would -not even let Julia Hamilton share my vigils, and one night when I was -worn out with fatigue and anxiety I fell asleep upon the lounge, where I -threw myself for a moment. How long I slept I never knew, but it must -have been an hour or more, for the last thing I remember was hearing the -whistle of the Western train and the distant sound of thunder as if a -storm were coming, and when I awoke the rain was falling heavily and the -clock was striking twelve, which was an hour after the train was due. It -was very quiet in the room, and darker than usual, for some one had -shaded the lamp from my eyes as well as Guy's, so that at first I did -not see distinctly, but I had an impression that there was a figure -sitting by Guy near the bed. Julia most likely, I thought, and I called -her by name, feeling my blood curdle in my veins and my heart stand -still with something like fear when a voice I knew so well and never -expected to hear again, answered softly: - -"It is not Julia. _It's I._" - -There was no faltering in her voice, no sound of apology. She spoke like -one who had a right to be there, and this it was which so enraged me and -made me lose my self-command. Starting to my feet, I confronted her as -she sat in my chair, by Guy's bedside, with those queer blue eyes of -hers fixed so questioningly upon me as if she wondered at my -impertinence. - -"_Miss McDonald_," I said, laying great stress on the name, "why are you -here, and how did you dare come?" - -"I _was_ almost afraid, it was so dark when I left the train, and it -kept thundering so," she replied, mistaking my meaning altogether, "but -there was no conveyance at the station and so I came on alone. I never -knew Guy was sick. Why did you not write and tell me? Is he very bad?" - -Her perfect composure and utter ignoring of the past provoked me beyond -endurance, and without stopping to think what I was doing, I seized her -arm, and drawing her into an adjoining room, said, in a suppressed -whisper of rage: - -"Very bad,--I should think so. We have feared and still fear he will -die, and it's all your work, the result of your wickedness, and yet you -presume to come here into his very room,--you who are no wife of his, -and no woman either, to do what you have done." - -What more I said I do not remember. I only know Daisy put her hands to -her head in a scared, helpless way, and said: - -"I do not quite understand it all, or what you wish me to do." - -"Do?" I replied. "I want you to leave this house immediately,--_now_, -before Guy can possibly be harmed by your presence. Go back to the depot -and take the next train home. It is due in an hour. You have time to -reach it." - -"But it is so dark, and it rains and thunders so," she said, with a -shudder, as a heavy peal shook the house and the rain beat against the -windows. - -I think I must have been crazy with mad excitement, and her answer made -me worse. - -"You were not afraid to come here," I said. "You can go from here as -well. Thunder will not hurt such as you." - -Even then she did not move, but crouched in a corner of the room -farthest from me, reminding me of my kitten when I try to drive it from -a place where it has been permitted to play. As that will not understand -my _'scats_ and gestures so she did not seem to comprehend my meaning. -But I made her at last, and with a very white face and a strange look in -her great staring blue eyes, she said: - -"Fanny," (she always called me Miss Frances before). "Fanny, do you -really mean me to go back in the dark, and the rain and the thunder? -Then I will, but I must tell you first what I came for, and you will -tell Guy. He gave me ten thousand dollars when we first were married; -settled it on me, they called it, and father was one of the trustees, -and kept the paper for me till I was of age. So much I understand, but -not why I can't give it back to Guy, for father says I can't. I never -dreamed it was mine after the--the--the divorce." - -She spoke the word softly and hesitatingly, while a faint flush showed -on her otherwise white face. - -"If I am not Guy's wife, as they say, then I have no right to his money, -and I told father so, and said I'd give it back, and he said I couldn't, -and I said I could and would, and I wrote to Guy about it, and told him -I was not so mean, and father kept the letter, and I did not know what I -should do next till I was invited to visit Aunt Merriman in Detroit. -Then I took the paper,--the _settlement_, you know, from the box where -father kept it, and put it in my pocket; here it is; see--" and she drew -out a document and held it toward me while she continued: "I started for -Detroit under the care of a friend who stopped a few miles the other -side, so you see I was free to come here if I liked, and I did so, for I -wanted to see Guy and give him the paper, and tell him I'd never take a -cent of his money. I am sorry he is sick. I did not think he'd care so -much, and I don't know what to do with the paper unless I tear it up. I -believe I'd better; then surely it will be out of the way." - -And before I could speak or think she tore the document in two, and then -across again, and scattered the four pieces on the floor. - -"Tell Guy, please," she continued, "what I have done, and that I never -meant to take it, after--after--_that_,--you know,--and that I did not -care for money only as father taught me I must have it, and that I am -sorry he ever saw me, and I never really wanted to be married and can't -be his wife again till I do." - -She spoke as if Guy would take her back of course if she only signified -her wish to come, and this kept me angry, though I was beginning to -soften a little with this unexpected phase of her character, and I might -have suffered her to stay till morning if she had signified a wish to do -so, but she did not. - -"I suppose I must go now if I catch the train," she said, moving toward -the door. "Good-bye, Fanny. I am sorry I ever troubled you." - -She held her little white ungloved hand toward me and then I came to -myself, and hearing the wind and rain, and remembering the lonely road -to the station, I said to her: - -"Stay, Daisy, I cannot let you go alone. Miss Hamilton will watch with -Guy while I go with you." - -"And who will come back with you? It will be just as dark and rainy -then," she said; but she made no objection to my plan, and in less than -five minutes Julia, who always slept in her dressing-gown so as to be -ready for any emergency, was sitting by Guy, and I was out in the dark -night with Daisy and our watch-dog Leo, who, at sight of his old -playmate, had leaped upon her and nearly knocked her down in his joy. - -"Leo is glad to see me," Daisy said, patting the dumb creature's head, -and in her voice there was a rebuking tone, which I resented silently. - -I was not glad to see her, and I could not act a part, but I wrapped my -waterproof around her and adjusted the hood over her hair, and thought -how beautiful she was, even in that disfiguring garb, and then we went -on our way, the young creature clinging close to me as peal after peal -of thunder rolled over our heads, and gleams of lightning lit up the -inky sky. She did not speak to me, nor I to her, till the red light on -the track was in sight, and we knew the train was coming. Then she asked -timidly: "Do you think Guy will die?" - -"Heaven only knows," I said, checking a strong impulse to add: "If he -does, you will have the satisfaction of knowing that you killed him." - -I am glad now that I did not say it. And I was glad then, when Daisy, -alarmed perhaps by something in the tone of my voice, repeated her -question: - -"But do _you_ think he will die? If I thought he would I should wish to -die too. I like him, Miss Frances, better than any one I ever saw; like -him now as well as I ever did, but I do not want to be his wife, nor -anybody's wife, and that is just the truth. I am sorry he ever saw me -and loved me so well. Tell him that, Fanny." - -It was Fanny again, and she grasped my hand nervously, for the train was -upon us. - -"Promise me solemnly that if you think he is surely going to die you -will let me know in time to see him once more. Promise,--quick,--and -kiss me as a pledge." - -The train had stopped. There was not a moment to lose, and I promised, -and kissed the red lips in the darkness, and felt a remorseful pang when -I saw the little figure go alone into the car which bore her swiftly -away, while I turned my steps homeward with only Leo for my companion. - -I had to tell Julia about it, and I gathered up the four scraps of paper -from the floor where Daisy had thrown them, and joining them together -saw they really were the marriage settlement, and kept them for Guy, -should he ever be able to hear about it and know what it meant. There -was a telegram for me, the next evening, dated at Detroit, and bearing -simply the words, "Arrived safely," and that was all I heard of Daisy. -No one in town knew of her having been here but Julia and myself, and it -was better that they should not, for Guy's life hung on a thread, and -for many days and nights I trembled lest that promise, sealed by a kiss, -would have to be redeemed. - -That was three weeks ago, and Guy is better now and knows us all, and -to-day, for the first time, I have a strong hope that I am not to be -left alone, and I thank Heaven for that hope, and feel as if I were at -peace with all the world, even with Daisy herself, from whom I have -heard nothing since that brief telegram. - - ---- - - August 1st, ----. - -The shadow of death has passed from our house, and I can almost say the -shadow of sickness too, for though Guy is still weak as a child and thin -as a ghost, he is decidedly on the gain, and to-day I drove him out for -the third time, and hoped from something he said that he was beginning -to feel some interest in the life so kindly given back to him. Still he -will never be just the same. The blow stunned him too completely for him -to recover quite his old happy manner, and there is a look of age in his -face which pains me to see. He knows Daisy has been here, and why. I had -to tell him all about it, and sooner too than I meant to, for almost his -first coherent question to me after his reason came back was: - -"Where is Daisy? I am sure I heard her voice. It could not have been a -dream. Is she here, or has she been here? Tell me the truth, Fanny." - -So I told him, and showed him the bits of paper, and held his head on my -bosom, while he cried like a child. How he loves her still, and how glad -he was to know that she was not as mercenary as it would at first seem. -Not that her tearing up that paper will make any difference about the -money. She cannot give it to him, he says, until she is of age, neither -does he wish it at all, and he would not take it from her; but he is -glad to see her disposition in the matter; glad to have me think better -of her than I did, and I am certain that he is expecting to hear from -her every day, and is disappointed that he does not. He did not reproach -me as I thought he would when I told him about turning her out in the -rain; he only said: - -"Poor Daisy, did she get very wet? She is so delicate, you know. I hope -it did not make her sick." - -Oh, the love a man will feel for a woman, let her be ever so unworthy. I -cannot comprehend it. And why should I? an old maid like me, who never -loved any one but Guy. - - ---- - - August 30th, ----. - -In a roundabout way we have heard that Mr. McDonald is going away with -his wife and daughter. When the facts of the divorce were known, they -brought him into such disgrace with the citizens of Indianapolis, who -were perfectly indignant, and showed that they were in every possible -way, that he thought best to leave for a time till the storm was over, -and so they will go to South America, where there is a cousin Tom, who -is growing rich very fast. I cannot help certain thoughts coming into my -mind, any more than I can help being glad that Daisy is going out of the -country. Guy never mentions her now, and is getting to look and act -quite like himself. If only he _could_ forget her, we might be very -happy again, as Heaven grant we may. - - - - -CHAPTER VII.--FIVE YEARS LATER. - - -"Married, this morning, at St. Paul's church, by the Rev. Dr. ----, -assisted by the Rector, Guy Thornton, Esq., of Cuylerville, to Miss -Julia Hamilton, of this city." - -Such was the notice which appeared in a daily Boston paper one lovely -morning in September five years after the last entry in Miss Thornton's -journal. Guy had reached the point at last, when he could put Daisy from -his heart and take another in her place. He had never seen her, or heard -directly from her since the night she brought him the marriage -settlement and tore it in pieces, thinking thus to give him the money -beyond a doubt. That this did not change the matter one whit he knew, -for she could not give him the ten thousand settled upon her until she -was of age. She _was_ of age now, and had been for a year or more, and -to say the truth he had expected to hear from her when she was -twenty-one. To himself he had reasoned on this wise: "Her father told -her that the tearing up that paper made no difference, that she was -powerless of herself to act until she was of age, so she will wait -quietly till then before making another effort." And Guy thought how he -would not take a penny from her, but would insist upon her keeping it. -Still he should respect her all the more for her sense of justice and -generosity, he thought, and when her twenty-first birthday came and -passed, and week after week went by, and brought no sign from Daisy, -there was a pang in his heart and a look of disappointment on his face -which did not pass away until October hung her gorgeous colors upon the -hills of Cuylerville, and Julia Hamilton came to the Brown Cottage to -spend a few weeks with his sister. - -From an independent, self-reliant, energetic girl of twenty-two, Julia -had ripened into a noble and dignified woman of twenty-seven, with a -repose of manner which seemed to rest and quiet one, and which told -insensibly on Guy, until at last he found himself dreading to have her -go, and wishing to keep her with him always. The visit was lengthened -into a month; and when in November he went with her to Boston, he had -asked her to take Daisy's place, and be his second wife. Very freely -they talked of the little golden-haired girl, and Julia told him what -she had heard through a mutual acquaintance who had been on the same -vessel with the McDonalds when they returned from South America. Cousin -Tom was with them, a rich man then, and a richer now, for his gold mine -and his railroad had made him almost a millionaire, and it was currently -reported and believed that Mr. McDonald meant him to marry his daughter. -They were abroad now, the McDonalds and Tom, and Daisy, it was said, was -even more beautiful than in her early girlhood, and that to her natural -loveliness was added great cultivation and refinement of manner. She had -had the best of teachers while in South America, and was now continuing -her studies abroad with a view to further improvement. All this Julia -Hamilton told Guy, and then bade him think again before deciding to join -his life with hers. - -And Guy did think again, and his thoughts went across the sea after the -beautiful Daisy, and he tried to picture to himself what she must be now -that education and culture had set their seal upon her. But always in -the picture there was a dark background, where cousin Tom stood sentinel -with his bags of gold, and so, with a half unconscious sigh for what -"might have been," Guy dug still deeper the grave where, years before, -he had buried his love for Daisy, and to make the burial sure this time, -so that there should be no future resurrection, he put over the grave a -head-stone, on which was written a new hope and a new love, both of -which centered in Julia Hamilton. - -And so they were engaged, and after that there was no wavering on his -part,--no looking back to a past, which seemed like a happy dream, from -which there had been a horrible awaking. - -He loved Julia at first quietly and sensibly, and loved her more and -more as the winter and spring went by, and brought the day when he stood -again at the altar, and for the second time took upon him the marriage -vow. It was a very quiet wedding, with only a few friends present, and -Miss Frances was the bridesmaid, in a gown of silver gray; but Julia's -face was bright with the certainty of a happiness long desired; and if -in Guy's heart there lingered the odor of other bridal flowers, withered -now and dead, and the memory of other marriage bells than those which -sent their music on the air that September morning, and if a pair of -sunny blue eyes seemed looking into his, he made no sign, and his face -wore an expression of perfect content as he took his second bride for -better or worse, just as he once had taken little Daisy. In Daisy's case -it had proved all for the worse, but now there was a suitableness in the -union which boded future happiness, and many a hearty wish for good was -sent after the newly-married pair, whose destination was New York. - -It was nearly dark when they reached the hotel, and quite dark before -dinner was over. Then Julia suddenly remembered that an old friend of -hers was boarding in the house, and suggested going to her room. - -"I'd send my card," she said, blushingly, "only she would not know me by -the new name, so if you do not mind my leaving you a moment, I'll go and -find her myself." - -Guy did not mind, and Julia went out and left him alone. Scarcely was -she gone when he called to mind a letter which had been forwarded to him -from Cuylerville, and which he had found awaiting him on his return -from, the church that morning. Not thinking it of much consequence, he -had thrust it in his pocket and in the excitement forgotten it till now. -He had dressed for dinner and worn his wedding-coat, and he took the -letter out and looked at it a moment, and wondered whom it was from, as -people often wait and wonder, when breaking the seal would settle the -matter so soon. It was post-marked in New York, and, felt heavy in his -hand, and he opened it at last, and found that the outer envelope -inclosed another one, on which his name and address were written in a -handwriting once so familiar to him, and the sight of which made him -start and breathe heavily for a moment as if the air had suddenly grown -thick and burdensome. - -It was Daisy's handwriting, which he had never thought to see again; for -after his engagement with Julia he had burned every vestige of a -correspondence it was sorrow now to remember. One by one, and with a -steady hand, he had dropped Daisy's letters into the fire and watched -them turning into ashes, and thought how like his love for her they were -when nothing remained of them but the thin gray tissue his breath could -blow away. The four scraps of the marriage settlement which Daisy had -brought him on that night of storm he kept, because they seemed to -embody something good and noble in the girl; but the letters she had -written him were gone past recall, and he had thought himself cut loose -from her forever,--when, lo! there had come to him an awakening to the -bitterness of the past in a letter from the once-loved wife, whose -delicate handwriting made him grow faint and sick for a moment, as he -held the letter in his hand and read: - - "_Guy Thornton, Esq._, - "Brown Cottage, - "Politeness of Mr. Wilkes. Cuylerville, Mass." - -Why had she written, and what had she to say to him? he wondered, and -for a moment he felt tempted to tear the letter up and never know what -it contained. - -Better, perhaps, had he done so,--better for him, and better for the -fond new wife whose happiness was so perfect, and whose trust in his -love was so strong. - -But he did not tear it up. He opened it, and another chapter will tell -us what he read. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII.--DAISY'S LETTER. - - -It was dated at Rouen, France, and it ran as follows: - -"_Dear, Dear Guy_:--I am all alone here in Rouen, with no one near me -who speaks English, or knows a thing of Daisy Thornton, as she was, or -as she is now, for I am Daisy Thornton here. I have taken the old name -again and am an English governess in a wealthy French family; and this -is how it came about: I have left Berlin and the party there, and am -earning my own living, for three reasons, two of which concern cousin -Tom, and one of which has to do with you and that miserable settlement -which has troubled me so much. I thought when I brought it back and tore -it up that was the last of it, and felt so happy and relieved. Father -missed it, of course; and I told him the truth and that I could never -touch a penny of your money if I was not your wife. He did not say a -word, and I supposed it was all right, and never dreamed that I was -actually clothed and fed on the interest of that ten thousand dollars. -Father would not tell me, and you did not write. Why didn't you, Guy? I -expected a letter so long and went to the office so many times and cried -a little to myself, and said Guy has forgotten me. - -"After the divorce, which I know now was a most unjust and mean affair, -the people in Indianapolis treated us with so much coldness and neglect -that at last we went to South America,--father, mother and I,--went to -live with Tom. He wanted me for his wife before you did, but I could not -marry Tom. He is very rich now, and we lived with him, and then we all -came to Europe and have traveled everywhere, and I have had teachers in -everything, and people say I am a fine scholar, and praise me much; and, -Guy, I have tried to improve just to please _you_; believe me, Guy, just -to please _you_. Tom was as a brother,--a dear, good big bear of a -brother, whom I loved as such, but nothing more. Even were you dead, I -could not marry Tom after knowing you; and I told him so when in Berlin -he asked me for the sixth time to be his wife. I had to tell him -something hard to make him understand, and when I saw how what I said -hurt him cruelly and made him cry because he was such a great big, -awkward, dear old fellow, I put my arms around his neck and cried with -him, and tried to explain, and that made him ten times worse. Oh, if -people only would not love me so much it would save me a great deal of -sorrow. - -"You see, I tell you this because I want you to know exactly what I have -been doing these five years, and that I have never thought of marrying -Tom or anybody. I did not think I could. I felt that if I belonged to -anybody it was you, and I cannot have Tom, and father was very angry and -taunted me with living on Tom's money, which I did not know before, and -then he accidently let out about the marriage settlement, and that hurt -me worse than the other. - -"Oh, Guy, how can I give it up? Surely there must be a way now I am of -age. I was so humiliated about it, and after all that passed between -father and Tom and me, I could not stay in Berlin, and never be sure -whose money was paying for my bread, and when I heard that Madame -Lafarcade, a French lady, who had spent the winter in Berlin, was -wanting an English governess for her children, I went to her, and as the -result, am here at her beautiful country-seat, just out of the city, -earning my own living and feeling so proud to do it; only, Guy, there is -an ache in my heart, a heavy, throbbing pain which will not leave me day -or night, and this is how it came there. - -"Mother wrote that you were about to marry Miss Hamilton. Letters from -home brought her the news, which she thinks is true. Oh, Guy, it is not, -it cannot be true. You must not go quite away from me now, just as I am -coming back to you. For, Guy, I am--or rather, I have come, and a great -love, such as I never felt before, fills me full almost to bursting. I -always liked you, Guy; but when we were married I did not know what it -was to love,--to feel my pulses quicken as they do now just at thought -of you. If I had, how happy I could have made you, but I was a silly -little girl, and married life was distasteful to me, and I was willing -to be free, though always, way down in my heart, was something which -protested against it, and if you knew just how I was influenced and led -on insensibly to assent, you would not blame me so much. The word -_divorce_ had an ugly sound to me, and I did not like it, and I have -always felt as if bound to you just the same. It would not be right for -me to marry Tom, even if I wanted to, which I do not. I am yours, -Guy,--only yours, and all these years I have studied and improved for -your sake, without any fixed idea, perhaps, as to what I expected or -hoped. But when Tom spoke the last time it came to me suddenly what I -was keeping myself for, and, just as a great body of water, when freed -from its prison walls rolls rapidly down a green meadow, so did a mighty -love for you take possession of me and permeate my whole being, until -every nerve quivered with joy, and when Tom was gone I went away alone -and cried more for my new happiness, I am afraid, than for him, poor -fellow. And yet I pitied him, too, and as I could not stay in Berlin -after that I came away to earn money enough to take me back to you. For -I am coming, or I was before I heard that dreadful news which I cannot -believe. - -"Is it true, Guy? Write and tell me it is not, and that you love me -still and want me back, or, if it in part is true, and you are engaged -to Julia, show her this letter and ask her to give you up, even if it is -the very day before the wedding,--for you are mine, and, sometimes, when -the children are troublesome, and I am so tired and sorry and homesick, -I have such a longing for a sight of your dear face, and think if I -could only lay my aching head in your lap once more I should never know -pain or weariness again. - -"Try me, Guy. I will be so good and loving, and make you so happy, and -your sister, too,--I was a bother to her once. I'll be a comfort now. -Tell her so, please; tell her to bid me come. Say the word yourself, and -almost before you know it I'll be there. - -"Truly, lovingly, waitingly, your wife, - - "_Daisy_." - -"P. S.--To make sure of this letter's safety I shall send it to New York -by a friend, who will mail it to you. - - "Again, lovingly, _Daisy Thornton_." - - ---- - -This was Daisy's letter, which Guy read with such a pang in his heart as -he had never known before, even when he was smarting the worst from -wounded love and disappointed hopes. Then he had said to himself, "I can -never suffer again as I am suffering now," and now, alas, he felt how -little he had ever known of that pain which tears the heart and takes -the breath away. - -"God help her," he moaned,--his first thought, his first prayer for -Daisy, the girl who called herself his wife, when just across the hall -was the bride of a few hours,--another woman who bore his name and -called him her husband. - -With a face as pale as ashes, and hands which shook like palsied hands, -he read again that pathetic cry from her whom he now felt he had never -ceased to love; ay, whom he loved still, and whom, if he could, he would -have taken to his arms so gladly, and loved and cherished as the -priceless thing he had once thought her to be. The first moments of -agony which followed the reading of the letter were Daisy's wholly, and -in bitterness of soul the man she had cast off and thought to take again -cried out, as he stretched his arms toward an invisible form: "Too late, -darling; too late. But had it come two months, one month, or even one -week ago, I would,--I would, --have gone to you over land and sea, but -now,--another is in your place, another is my wife; Julia,--poor, -innocent Julia. God help me to keep my vow; God help me in my need." - -He was praying now; and Julia was the burden of his prayer. And as he -prayed there came into his heart an unutterable tenderness and pity for -her. He had thought he loved her an hour ago; he believed he loved her -now, or if he did not, he would be to her the kindest, most thoughtful -of husbands, and never let her know, by word or sign, of the terrible -pain he should always carry in his heart. "Darling Daisy, poor Julia," -he called the two women who were both so much to him. To the first his -love, to the other his tender care, for she was worthy of it. She was -noble, and good, and womanly; he said many times and tried to stop the -rapid heart-throbs and quiet himself down to meet her when she came back -to him with her frank, open face and smile, in which there was no shadow -of guile. She was coming now; he heard her voice in the hall speaking to -her friend, and thrusting the fatal letter in his pocket he rose to his -feet, and steadying himself upon the table, stood waiting for her, as, -flushed and eager, she came in. - -"Guy, Guy, what is it? Are you sick?" she asked, alarmed at the pallor -of his face and the strange expression of his eyes. - -He was glad she had thus construed his agitation, and he answered that -he was faint and a little sick. - -"It came on suddenly, while I was sitting here. It will pass off as -suddenly," he said, trying to smile, and holding out his hand, which she -took at once in hers. - -"Is it your heart, Guy? Do you think it is your heart?" she continued, -as she rubbed and caressed his cold, clammy hand. - -A shadow of pain or remorse flitted across Guy's face as he replied: - -"I think it is my heart, but I assure you there is no danger,--the worst -is over. I am a great deal better." - -And he was better with that fair girl beside him, her face glowing with -excitement, and her soft hands pressing his. Perfectly healthy herself, -she must have imparted some life and vigor to him, for he felt his pulse -grow steadier beneath her touch, and the blood flow more regularly -through his veins. If only he could forget that crumpled letter which -lay in his vest pocket, and seemed to burn into his flesh; forget that, -and the young girl watching for an answer and the one word "come," he -might be happy yet, for Julia was one whom any man could love and be -proud to call his wife. And Guy said to himself that he did love her, -though not as he once loved Daisy, or as he could love her again were he -free to do so, and because of that full love withheld, he made a mental -vow that his whole life should be given to Julia's happiness, so that -she might never know any care or sorrow from which he could shield her. - -"And Daisy?" something whispered in his ear. - -"I must and will forget her," he sternly answered, and the arm he had -thrown around Julia, who was sitting with him upon the sofa, tightened -its grasp until she winced and moved a little from him. - -He was very talkative that evening, and asked his wife many questions -about her friends and the shopping she wished to do, and the places they -were to visit; and Julia, who had hitherto regarded him as a quiet, -silent man, given to few words, wondered at the change, and watched the -bright red spots on his cheeks, and thought how she would manage to have -medical advice for that dreadful heart-disease, which had come like a -nightmare to haunt her bridal days. - -Next morning there came a Boston paper containing a notice of the -marriage, and this Guy sent to Daisy, with only the faint tracing of a -pencil to indicate the paragraph. - -"Better so than to write," he thought; though he longed to add the -words, "Forgive me, Daisy; your letter came too late." - -And so the paper was sent, and, after a week or two, Guy went back to -his home in Cuylerville, and the blue rooms which Julia had fitted up -for Daisy five years before became her own by right. And Fanny Thornton -welcomed her warmly to the house, and by many little acts of -thoughtfulness showed how glad she was to have her there. And Julia was -very happy save when she remembered the heart-disease which she was sure -Guy had, and for which he would not take advice. "There was nothing the -matter with his heart, unless it were too full of love," he told her -laughingly, and wondered to himself if in saying this he was guilty of a -lie, inasmuch as his words misled her so completely. - -After a time, however, there came a change, and thoughts of Daisy ceased -to disturb him as they once had done. No one ever mentioned her to him, -and since the receipt of her letter he had heard no tidings of her until -six months after his marriage, when there came to him the ten thousand -dollars, with all the interest which had accrued since the settlement -first was made. There was no word from Daisy herself, but a letter from -a lawyer in Berlin, who said all there was to say with regard to the -business, but did not tell where Miss McDonald, as he called her, was. - -Then Guy wrote Daisy a letter of thanks, to which there came no reply, -and as time went on the old wound began to heal, the grave to close -again; and when, at last, one year after his marriage, they brought him -a beautiful little baby girl and laid it in his arms, and then a few -moments later let him into the room where the pale mother lay, he -stooped over her, and kissing her fondly, said; - -"I never loved you half as well as I do now!" - -It was a pretty child, with dark blue eyes, and hair in which there was -a gleam of gold, and Guy, when asked by his wife what he would call her, -said; - -"Would you object to Margaret?" - -Julia knew what he meant, and like the true, noble woman she was, -offered no objection to Guy's choice, and herself first gave the pet -name of Daisy to her child, on whom Guy settled the ten thousand dollars -sent to him by the Daisy over the sea. - - - - -CHAPTER IX.--DAISY, TOM, AND THAT OTHER ONE. - - -Watching, waiting, hoping, saying to herself in the morning, "It will -come before night," and saying to herself at night, "It will be here -to-morrow morning." Such was Daisy's life, even before she had a right -to expect an answer to her letter. - -Of the nature of Guy's reply she had no doubt. He had loved her once, he -loved her still, and he would take her back of course. There was no -truth in that rumor of another marriage. Possibly her father, whom she -understood now better than she once did, had gotten the story up for the -sake of inducing her through pique to marry Tom; but if so, his plan -would fail. Guy would write to her, "Come!" and she should go, and more -than once she counted the contents of her purse and added to it the sum -due her from Madame Lafarcade, and wondered if she would dare venture on -the journey with so small a sum. - -"You so happy and white, too, this morning," her little pupil, Pauline, -said to her one day, when they sat together in the garden, and Daisy was -indulging in a fanciful picture of her meeting with Guy. - -"Yes, I am happy," Daisy said, rousing from her revery; "but I did not -know I was pale, or white, as you term it, though, now I think of it, I -do feel sick and faint. It's the heat, I suppose. Oh! there is Max, with -the mail! He is coming this way! He has,--he certainly has something for -me!" - -Daisy's cheeks were scarlet now, and her eyes were bright as stars as -she went forward to meet the man who brought the letters to the house. - -"Only a paper!--is there nothing more?" she asked, in an unsteady voice, -as she took the paper in her hand, and recognizing Guy's handwriting, -knew almost to a certainty what was before her. - -"Oh, you are sick, I must bring some water," Pauline exclaimed, alarmed -at Daisy's white face and the peculiar tone of her voice. - -"No, Pauline, stay; open the paper for me," Daisy said, feeling that it -would be easier so than to read it herself, for she knew what was there, -else he would never have sent her a paper and nothing more. - -Delighted to be of some use, and a little gratified to open a foreign -paper, Pauline tore off the wrapper, starting a little at Daisy's quick, -sharp cry as she made a rent across the handwriting. - -"Look, you are tearing into my name, which he wrote," Daisy said, and -then remembering herself she sank back into her seat in the garden -chair, while Pauline wondered what harm there was in tearing an old -soiled wrapper, and why her governess should take it so carefully in her -hand and roll it up as if it had been a living thing. - -There were notices of new books, and a runaway match in high life, and a -suicide on Sumner street, and a golden wedding in Roxbury, and the -latest fashions from Paris, into which Pauline plunged with avidity, -while Daisy listened like one in a dream, asking, when the fashions were -exhausted, "Is that all? Are there no deaths or marriages?" - -Pauline had not thought of that,--she would see; and she hunted through -the columns till she found Guy's pencil mark, and read: - -"Married, this morning, in----church, by the Rev. Dr.----, assisted by -the rector, Guy Thornton, Esq., of Cuylerville, to Miss Julia Hamilton, -of this city." - -"Yes, yes, I see,--I know, it's very hot here, isn't it? I think I will -go in," Daisy said, her fingers working nervously with the bit of paper -she held. - -But Pauline was too intent on the name Thornton to hear what Daisy said, -and she asked: "Is Mr. Thornton your friend or your relative?" - -It was natural enough question, and Daisy roused herself to answer it, -and said, quickly: "He is the son of my husband's father." - -"Oh, _oui_," Pauline rejoined, a little mystified as to the exact -relationship existing between Guy Thornton and her teacher's husband, -who she supposed was dead, as Daisy had only confided to madame the fact -of a divorce. - -"What date is the paper?" Daisy asked, and on being told she said softly -to herself: "I see; it was too late." - -There was in her mind no doubt as to what the result would have been had -her letter been in time; no doubt of Guy's preference for herself, no -regret that she had written to him, except that the knowledge that she -loved him at last would make him wretched with thinking "what might have -been," and with the bitter pain which cut her heart like a knife there -was mingled a pity for Guy, who would perhaps suffer more than she did, -if that were possible. She never once thought of retribution, or of -murmuring against her fate, but accepted it meekly, albeit she staggered -under the load and grew faint as she thought of the lonely life before -her, and she so young. - -Slowly she went back to her room, while Pauline walked up and down the -garden, trying to make out the relationship between the newly-married -Thornton and her teacher. - -"The son of her husband's father?" she repeated, until at last a meaning -dawned upon her, and she said: "Then he must be her brother-in-law; but -why didn't she say so? Maybe, though, that is the English way of putting -it;" and having thus settled the matter Pauline joined her mother, who -was asking for Mrs. Thornton. - -"Gone to her room, and her brother-in-law is married. It was marked in a -paper, and I read it to her, and she's sick," Pauline said, without, -however, in the least connecting the sickness with the marriage. - -Daisy did not come down to dinner that night, and the maid who called -her the next morning reported her as ill and acting very strangely. -Through the summer a malarious fever had prevailed to some extent in and -about Rouen, and the physician whom Madame Lafarcade summoned to the -sick girl expressed a fear that she was coming down with it, and ordered -her kept as quiet as possible. - -"She seems to have something weighing on her mind. Has she heard any bad -news from home?" he asked, as in reply to his question where her pain -was the worst, Daisy always answered: - -"It reached him too late--too late, and I am so sorry." - -Madame knew of no bad news, she said, and then as she saw the foreign -paper lying on the table, she took it up, and, guided by the pencil -marks, read the notice of Guy Thornton's marriage, and that gave her the -key at once to Daisy's mental agitation. Daisy had been frank with her -and told as much of her story as was necessary, and she knew that the -Guy Thornton married to Julia Hamilton had once called Daisy his wife. - -"Excuse me, she is, or she has something on her mind, I suspect," she -said to the physician, who was still holding Daisy's hand and looking -anxiously at her flushed cheeks and bright, restless eyes. - -"I thought so," he rejoined, "and it aggravates all the symptoms of her -fever. I shall call again to-night." - -He did call, and found his patient worse, and the next day he asked of -Madame Lafarcade: - -"Has she friends in this country? If so, they ought to know." - -A few hours later and in his lodgings at Berlin, Tom read the following -dispatch: - -"Mrs. Thornton is dangerously ill. Come at once." - -It was directed to Mr. McDonald, who with his wife had been on a trip to -Russia, and was expected daily. Feeling intuitively that it concerned -Daisy, Tom had opened it, and without a moment's hesitation packed his -valise and leaving a note for the McDonalds when they should return, -started for Rouen. Daisy did not know him, and in her delirium she said -things to him and of him which hurt him cruelly. Guy was her theme, and -the letter which went "too late, too late." Then she would beg of Tom to -go for Guy, to bring him to her, and tell him how much she loved him and -how good she would be if he would only take her back. - -"Father wants me to marry Tom," she said in a whisper, and Tom's heart -almost stood still as he listened; "and Tom wanted me, too, but I -couldn't, you know, even if he were worth his weight in gold. I could -not love him. Why, he's got red hair, and such great freckles on his -face, and big feet and hands with frecks on them. Do you know Tom?" - -"Yes, I know him," Tom answered, sadly, forcing down a choking sob, -while the "big hand with the great frecks on it," smoothed the golden -hair tenderly, and pushed it back from the burning brow. - -"Don't talk any more, Daisy; it tires you so," he said, as he saw her -about to speak again. - -But Daisy was not to be stopped, and she went on: - -"Tom is good, though; so good, but awkward, and I like him ever so much, -but I can't be his wife. I cannot. I cannot." - -"He doesn't expect it now, or want it," came huskily from Tom, while -Daisy quickly asked: - -"Doesn't he?" - -"No, never any more; so, put it from your mind and try to sleep," Tom -said, and again the freckled hands smoothed the tumbled pillows and -wiped the sweat drops from Daisy's face, while all the time the great -kind heart was breaking, and the hot tears were rolling down the -sunburnt face Daisy thought so ugly. - -Tom had heard from Madame Lafarcade of Guy's marriage and, like her, -understood why Daisy's fever ran so high, and her mind was in such -turmoil. But for himself he knew there was no hope, and with a feeling -of death in his heart he watched by her day and night, yielding his -place to no one, and saying to madame, when she remonstrated with him -and bade him care for his own health: - -"It does not matter for me. I would rather die than not." - -Daisy was better when her mother came,--saved, the doctor said, more by -Tom's care and nursing than by his own skill, and then Tom gave up his -post, and never went near her unless she asked for him. His "red hair -and freckled face" were constantly in his mind, making him loathe the -very sight of himself. - -"She cannot bear my looks, and I will not force myself upon her," he -thought; and so he staid away, but surrounded her with every luxury -money could buy, and as soon as she was able had her removed to a pretty -little cottage which he rented and fitted up for her, and where she -would be more at home and quieter than at Madame Lafarcade's. - -And there one morning when he called to inquire for her, he, too, was -smitten down with the fever which he had taken with Daisy's breath the -many nights and days he watched by her without rest or sufficient food. -There was a faint, followed by a long interval of unconsciousness, and -when he came to himself he was in Daisy's own room lying on Daisy's -little bed, and Daisy herself was bending anxiously over him, with a -flush on her white cheeks and a soft, pitiful look in her blue eyes. - -"What is it? Where am I?" he asked, and Daisy replied: - -"You are here in my room; and you've got the fever, and I'm going to -take care of you, and I'm so glad. Not glad you have the fever," she -added, as she met his look of wonder, "but glad I can repay in part all -you did for me, you dear, noble Tom! And you are not to talk," and she -laid her hand on his mouth as she saw him about to speak. "I am strong -enough; the doctor says so, and I'd do it if he didn't, for you are the -best, the truest friend I have." - -She was rubbing his hot, feverish hands, and though the touch of her -cool, soft fingers was so delicious, poor Tom thought of the big frecks -so obnoxious to the little lady, and drawing his hands from her grasp -hid them beneath the clothes. Gladly, too, would he have covered his -face and hair from her sight, but this he could not do and breathe, so -he begged her to leave him, and send some one in her place. But Daisy -would not listen to him. - -He had nursed her day and night, she said, and she should stay with him, -and she did stay through the three weeks when Tom's fever ran higher -than hers had done, and when Tom in his ravings talked of things which -made her heart ache with a new and different pain from that already -there. - -At first there were low whisperings and incoherent mutterings, and when -Daisy asked him to whom he was talking he answered: - -"To that other one over in the corner. Don't you see him? He is waiting -for me till the fever eats me up. There's a lot of me to eat, I'm so big -and awkward, overgrown,--that's what Daisy said. You know Daisy, don't -you? a dainty little creature, with such delicacy of sight and touch. -She doesn't like red hair; she said so, when we thought the man in the -corner was waiting for her; and she doesn't like my freckled face and -hands,--big hands, she said they were, and yet how they have worked like -horses for her. Oh, Daisy, Daisy, I have loved her ever since she was a -child, and I drew her to school on my sled and cut her doll's head off -to tease her. Take me quick, please, out of her sight, where my freckled -face won't offend her." - -He was talking now to that other one, the man in the corner, who like -some grim sentinel stood there day and night, while Daisy kept her -tireless watch and Tom talked on and on,--never to her,--but always to -the other one, the man in the corner, whom he begged to take him away. - -"Bring out your boat," he would say. "It's time we were off, for the -tide is at its height, and the river is running so fast. I thought once -it would take Daisy, but it left her and I am glad. When I am fairly -over and there's nothing but my big freckled hulk left, cover my face, -and don't let her look at me, though I'll be white then, not red. Oh, -Daisy, Daisy, my darling, you hurt me so cruelly." - -Those were terrible days for Daisy, but she never left her post, and -stood resolutely between the sick man and _that other one_ in the -corner, until the latter seemed to waver a little; his shadow was not so -black, his presence so all-pervading, and there was hope for Tom, the -doctor said. His reason came back at last, and the fever left him, weak -as a little child, with no power to move even his poor wasted hands, -which lay outside the counterpane and seemed to trouble him, for there -was a wistful, pleading look in his gray eyes as they went from the -hands to Daisy, and his lips whispered faintly: "Cover." - -She understood him, and with a rain of tears spread the sheet over them, -and then on her knees beside him, said to him, amid her sobs: - -"Forgive me, Tom, for what I said when I was crazy. You are not -repulsive to me. You are the truest, best, and dearest friend I ever -had, and I--I--Oh, Tom, live for my sake, and let me prove how--Oh, Tom, -I wish I had never been born." - -Daisy did not stay with Tom that night. There was no necessity for it, -and she was so worn and weary with watching that the physician declared -she must have absolute rest or be sick again. So she staid away, and in -a little room by herself fought the fiercest battle she had ever fought, -and on her knees, with tears and bitter cries, asked for help to do -right. Not for help to know what was right. She felt sure that she did -know that, only the flesh was weak, and there were chords of love still -clinging to a past she scarcely dared think of now, lest her courage -should fail her. Guy was lost to her forever; it was a sin even to think -of him as she must think if she thought at all, and so she strove to put -him from her,--to tear his image from her heart, and put another in its -place,--Tom, whom she pitied so much, and whom she could make so happy. - -"No matter for myself," she said at last. "No matter what I feel, or how -sharp the pain in my heart, if I only keep it there and never let Tom -know. I can make him happy, and I will." - -There was no wavering after that decision,--no regret for the "might -have been,"--but her face was white as snow, and about the pretty mouth -there was a quivering of the muscles, as if the words were hard to -utter, when next day she went to Tom, and sitting down beside him, asked -how he was feeling. His eyes brightened a little when he saw her, but -there was a look on his face which made Daisy's pulse quicken with a -nameless fear, and his voice was very weak, as he replied: - -"They say I am better; but, Daisy, I know the time is near for me to go. -I shall never get well, and I do not wish to, though life is not a gift -to be thrown away easily, and on some accounts mine has been a happy -one, but the life beyond is better, and I feel sure I am going to it." - -"Oh, Tom, Tom, don't talk so. You must not leave me now," Daisy cried, -all her composure giving way as she fell on her knees beside him, and -taking both his hands in hers wet them with her tears. "Tom," she began, -when she could speak, "I have been bad to you so often, and worried and -wounded you so much; but I am sorry, so sorry,--and I've thought it all -over real earnestly and seriously, and made up my mind, and I want you -to get well and ask me that,--that--question again,--you have asked so -many times,--and--and--Tom,--I will say--yes--to it now, and try so hard -to make you happy." - -Her face was crimson as if with shame, and she dared not look at Tom -until his silence startled her. Then she stole a glance at him, and met -an expression which prompted her to go on recklessly: - -"Don't look so incredulous, Tom. I am in earnest. I mean what I say, -though it may be unmaidenly to say it. Try me, Tom. I will make you -happy, and though at first I cannot love you as I did Guy when I sent -him that letter, the love will come, born of your great goodness and -kindness of heart. Try me, Tom, won't you?" - -She kissed his thin white hands where the freckles showed more plainly -than ever, and which Tom tried to free from her; she held them fast and -looked steadily into the face, which shone for a moment with a joy so -great that it was almost handsome, and when she said again: "Will you, -Tom?" the pale lips parted with an effort to speak, but no sound was -audible, only the chin quivered and the tears stood in Tom's eyes as he -battled with the temptation. Should he accept the sacrifice? It would be -worth trying to live for, if Daisy could be his wife, but ought he to -join her life with his? Could she ever learn to love him? No, she could -not, and he must put her from him, even though she came asking him to -take her. Thus Tom decided, and turning his face to the wall, he said -with a choking sob: - -"No, Daisy. It cannot be. Such happiness is not for me now. I must not -think of it, for I am going to die. Thank you, darling, just the same. -It was kind in you and well meant, but it cannot be. I could not make -you happy. I am not like Guy; never could be like him, and you would -hate me after a while, and the chain would hurt you cruelly. No, Daisy, -I love you too well,--and yet, Daisy,--Daisy,--why do you tempt me -so,--if it could be, I might perhaps get well, I should try so hard." - -He turned suddenly toward her, and winding both his arms around her, -drew her to him in a quick, passionate embrace, crying piteously over -her, and saying: - -"My darling, my darling, if it could have been, but it's too late -now,--God is good and will take me to Himself. I thought a great deal -before I was sick, and believe I am a better man, and that Jesus is my -friend, and I am going to him. I'm glad you told me what you have. It -will make my last days happier, and when I am gone, you will find that I -did well with you." - -He put her from him then, for faintness and exhaustion were stealing -over him, and that was the last that ever passed between him and Daisy -on the subject which all his life had occupied so much of his thoughts. -The fever had left him, it is true, but he seemed to have no vital force -or rallying power, and, after a few days, it was clear even to Daisy -that Tom's life was drawing to a close. "The man in the corner," who had -troubled him so much, was there again, and Tom was very happy. He had -thought much of death and what lay beyond during those days when Daisy's -life hung in the balance, and the result of the much thinking had been a -full surrender of himself to God, who did not forsake him when the dark, -cold river was closing over him. - -Calm and peaceful as the setting of the summer sun was the close of his -life, and up to the last he retained his consciousness, with the -exception of a few hours, when his mind wandered a little, and he talked -to "that other one," whom no one could see, but whose presence all felt -so vividly. - -"It would have been pleasant, and for a minute I was tempted to take her -at her word," he said; "but when I remembered my hair, and face, and -hands, and how she liked nothing which was not comely, I would not run -the chance of being hated for my repulsive looks. Poor little Daisy! she -meant it all right, and I bless her for it, and am glad she said it, but -she must not look at me when I'm dead. The frecks she dislikes so much -will show plainer then. Don't let her come near, or, if she must, cover -me up,--cover me up,--cover me from her sight." - -Thus he talked, and Daisy, who knew what he meant, wept silently by his -side, and kept the sheet closely drawn over the hands he was so anxious -to conceal. He knew her at the last, and bade her farewell, and told her -she had been to him the dearest thing in life; and Daisy's arm was round -him, supporting him upon the pillow, and Daisy's hand wiped the death -moisture from his brow, and Daisy's lips were pressed to his dying face, -and her ear caught his faint whisper: - -"God bless you, darling! I am going home! Good-bye." - -"The man in the corner,--that other one,"--had claimed him, and Daisy -put gently from her the lifeless form which had once been Tom. - -They buried him there in France, on a sunny slope, where the grass was -green and the flowers blossomed in the early spring; and, when Mr. -McDonald examined his papers, he found to his surprise that, with the -exception of an annuity to himself, and several legacies to different -charitable institutions, Tom had left to Daisy his entire fortune, -stipulating only that one-tenth of all her income should be yearly given -back to God, who had a right to it. - - - - -CHAPTER X.--MISS MCDONALD. - - -She took the name again, and with it, also, Margaret, feeling that Daisy -was far too girlish an appellation for one who clad herself in the -deepest mourning, and felt, when she stood at poor Tom's grave, more -wretched and desolate than many a wife has felt when her husband was -buried from sight. - -Tom had meant to make her parents independent of her so that she need -not have them with her unless she chose to do so, for knowing Mr. -McDonald as he did, he thought she would be happier without him; but God -so ordered it that within three months after poor Tom's death, they made -another grave beside his, and Daisy and her mother were alone. - -It was spring time, and the two desolate women bade adieu to their dead, -and made their way to England, and from there to Scotland, where among -the heather hills they passed the summer in the utmost seclusion. - -Here Daisy had ample time for thought, which dwelt mostly upon the past -and the happiness she cast away when she consented to the sundering of -the tie which had bound her to Guy Thornton. - -"Oh, how could I have been so foolish and so weak," she said, as with -intense contempt for herself, she read over the journal she had kept at -Elmwood during the first weeks of her married life. - -Guy had said it would be pleasant for her to refer to its pages in after -years, little dreaming with what sore anguish of heart poor Daisy would -one day weep over the senseless things recorded there. - -"Can it be I was ever that silly little fool?" she said bitterly, as she -finished her journal. "And how could Guy love me as he did. Oh, if I but -had the chance again, I would make him so happy. Oh, Guy, Guy,--my -husband still,--mine more than Julia's, if you could know how much I -love you now; nor can I feel it wrong to do so, even though I never hope -to see your face again, Guy, Guy, the world is so desolate, and I am -young, only twenty-three, and life is so long and dreary with nothing to -live for or to do. I wish almost that I were dead like Tom, only I dare -not think I should go to the Heaven where he has gone." - -In her sorrow and loneliness, Daisy was fast sinking into an unhealthy -morbid state of mind from which nothing seemed to rouse her. - -"Nothing to live for,--nothing to do," was her lament, until one golden -September day, when there came a turning point in her life, and she -found there was something to do. - -There was no regular service that Sunday in the church where she usually -attended, and as the day was fine and she was far too restless to remain -at home, she proposed to her mother that they walk to a little chapel -about a mile away, where a young Presbyterian clergyman was to preach. - -She had heard much of his eloquence, and as his name was McDonald, he -might possibly be some distant relative, inasmuch as her father was of -Scotch descent, and she felt a double interest in him, and with her -mother was among the first who entered the little humble building, and -took a seat upon one of the hard, uncomfortable benches near the pulpit. - -The speaker was young,--about Tom's age,--and with a look on his florid -face and a sound in his voice so like that of the dead man that Daisy -half started to her feet when he first took his stand in front of her, -and announced the opening hymn. His text was, "Why stand ye here all the -day idle?" and so well did he handle it, and so forcible were his -gestures and eloquent his style of delivery, that Daisy listened to him -spell-bound, her eyes fixed intently upon his glowing face, and her ears -drinking in every word he uttered. - -After dwelling a time upon the loiterers in God's vineyard, the idlers -from choice, who worked not for lack of an inclination to do so, he -spoke next of the class whose whole life was a weariness for want of -something to do, and to these he said, "Have you never read how, when -the disciples rebuked the grateful woman for wasting upon her Master's -head what might have been sold for three hundred pence, and given to the -poor, Jesus said unto them, 'The poor ye have with you always,' and is -it not so, my hearers? Are there no poor at your door to be fed, no -hungry little ones to be cared for out of the abundance which God has -only loaned for this purpose? Are there no wretched homes which you can -make happier, no aching hearts which a kind word would cheer? Remember -there is a blessing pronounced for even the cup of cold water, and how -much greater shall be the reward of those who, forgetting themselves, -seek the good of others and turn not away from the needy and the -desolate. See to it, then, you to whom God has given much. See to it -that you sit not down in idle ease, wasting upon yourself alone the -goods designed for others; for to whom much is given of him much shall -be required." - -Attracted, perhaps, by the deep black of Daisy's attire, or the -something about her which marked her as different from the mass of his -hearers, the speaker seemed to address the last of his remarks directly -to her, and had the dead Tom risen from his grave and spoken with her -face to face, she could hardly have been more affected than she was. The -resemblance was so striking and the voice so like her cousin's, that she -felt as if she had received a message direct from him; or, if not from -him, she surely had from God, whose almoner she henceforth would be. - -That day was the beginning of a new life to her. Thenceforth there must -be no more repining; no more idle, listless days, no more wishing for -something to do. There was work all around her, and she found it and did -it with a will,--first, from a sense of duty, and at last for the real -pleasure it afforded her to carry joy and gladness to the homes where -want and sorrow had been so long. - -Hearing that there was sickness and destitution among the miners in -Peru, where her possessions were, she went there early in November, and -many a wretched heart rejoiced because of her, and many a lip blessed -the beautiful lady whose coming among them was productive of so much -good. Better dwellings, better wages, a church, a school-house followed -in her footsteps, and then, when everything seemed in good working -order, there came over her a longing for her native country, and the -next autumn found her in New York, where in a short space of time -everybody knew of the beautiful Miss McDonald, who was a millionaire and -who owned the fine house and grounds in the upper part of the city not -far from the Park. - -Here society claimed her again, and Daisy, who had no morbid fancies -now, yielded in part to its claims, and became, if not a belle, at least -a favorite, whose praises were in every mouth. But chiefly was she known -and loved by the poor and the despised whom she daily visited, and to -whom her presence was like the presence of an angel. - -"You do look lovely and sing so sweet; I know there's nothing nicer in -Heaven," said a little piece of deformity to her one day as it lay dying -in her arms. "I'se goin' to Heaven, which I shouldn't have done if -you'se hadn't gin me the nice bun and told me of Jesus. I loves Him now, -and I'll tell Him how you bringed me to Him." - -Such was the testimony of one dying child, and it was dearer to Daisy -than all the words of flattery ever poured into her ear. As she had -brought that little child to God so she would bring others, and she made -her work among the children especially, finding there her best -encouragement and greatest success. - -Once when Guy Thornton chanced to be in the city and driving in the -Park, he saw a singular sight--a pair of splendid bays arching their -graceful necks proudly, their silver-tipped harness flashing in the -sunlight, and their beautiful mistress radiant with happiness as she sat -in her open carriage, not with gayly-dressed friends, but amid a group -of poorly-clad pale-faced little ones, to whom the Park was paradise, -and she the presiding angel. - -"Look,--that's Miss McDonald," Guy's friend said to him, "the greatest -heiress in New York, and I reckon the one who does the most good. Why, -she supports more old people and children and runs more ragged schools -than any half-dozen men in the city, and I don't suppose there's a den -in New York where she has not been, and never once, I'm told, was she -insulted, for the vilest of them stand between her and harm. Once a -miscreant on Avenue A knocked a boy down for accidently stepping in a -pool of water and spattering her white dress in passing. Friday nights -she has a reception for these people, and you ought to see how well they -behave. At first they were noisy and rough, and she had to have the -police, but now they are quiet and orderly as you please, Perhaps you'd -like to go to one. I know Miss McDonald, and will take you with me." - -Guy said he should not be in town on Friday, as he must, return to -Cuylerville the next day, and with a feeling he could not quite analyze -he turned to look at the turnout which excited so much attention. But it -was not so much at the handsome bays and the bevy of queer-looking -children he gazed, as at the lady in their midst, clad in velvet and -ermine, with a long white feather falling among the curls of her bright -hair. When Daisy first entered upon her new life, she had affected a -nun-like garb as most appropriate, but after a little child said to her -once: "I don't like your black gown all the time. I likes sumptin' -bright and pretty," she changed her dress and gave freer scope to her -natural good taste and love of what was becoming. And the result showed -the wisdom of the change, for the children and inmates of the dens she -visited, accustomed only to the squallor and ugliness of their -surroundings, hailed her more rapturously than they had done before, and -were never weary of talking of the beautiful woman who was not afraid to -wear her pretty clothes into their wretched houses, which gradually grew -more clean and tidy for her sake. - -"It wasn't for the likes of them gownds to trail through sich truck," -Bridget O'Donohue said, and on the days when Daisy was expected, she -scrubbed the floor, which, until Daisy's advent had not known water for -years, and rubbed and polished the one wooden chair kept sacred for the -lady's use. - -Other women, too, caught Biddy's spirit and scrubbed their floors and -their children's faces on the day when Miss McDonald was to call, and -when she came, she was watched narrowly, lest by some chance a speck of -dirt should fall upon her, and her becoming dress and handsome face were -commented on and remembered as some fine show which had been seen for -nothing. Especially did the children like her in her bright dress, and -the velvet and ermine in which she was clad when Guy met her in the Park -were worn more for their sakes, than for the gaze of those to whom such -things were no novelties. To Guy she looked more beautiful than he had -ever seen her before, and there was in his heart a feeling like a want -of something lost, as her carriage disappeared from, view and he lost -sight of the fair face and form which had once been his own. - -The world was going well with Guy, for though Dick Trevylian had paid no -part of the one hundred thousand dollars, and he still lived in the -Brown Cottage on the hill, he was steadily working his way to -competency, if not to wealth. His profession as lawyer, which he had -resumed, yielded him a remunerative income, while his contributions to -different magazines were much sought after, so that to all human -appearance he was prosperous and happy. Prosperous in his business, and -happy in his wife and little ones, for there was now a second child, a -baby Guy of six weeks old, and when on his return from New York the -father bent over the cradle of his boy, and kissed his baby face, that -image seen in the Park seemed to fade away, and the caresses he gave to -Julia had in them no faithlessness or insincerity. She was a noble -woman, and had made him a good wife, and he loved her truly, though with -a different, less absorbing, less ecstatic love than he had given to -Daisy. But he did not tell her of Miss McDonald. Indeed, that name was -never spoken now, nor was any reference ever made to her except when the -little Daisy sometimes asked where was the lady for whom she was named, -and why she did not send her a doll. - -"I hardly think she knows there is such a chit as you," Guy said to her -once, when sorely pressed on the subject; and then the child wondered -how that could be; and wished she was big enough to write her a letter -and ask her to come and see her. - -Every day after that little Daisy played "make b'leve Miss Mack-Dolly" -was there, said Mack-Dolly being represented by a bundle of shawls tied -up to look like a figure and seated in a chair. At last there came to -the cottage a friend of Julia's, a young lady from New York, who knew -Miss McDonald, and who, while visiting in Cuylerville, accidentally -learned that she was the divorced wife, of whose existence she knew, but -of whom she had never spoken to Mrs. Thornton. Hearing the little one -talking one day to Miss Mack-Dolly, asking her why she never wrote, nor -sent a "sing" to her _sake-name_, the young lady said: - -"Why don't you send Miss McDonald a letter? You tell me what to say and -I'll write it down for you, but don't let mamma know till you see if you -get anything." - -The little girl's fancy was caught at once with the idea, and the -following letter was the result: - - "_Brown Cottage_, 'Most Tissmas time. - -"_Dear Miss Mac-Dolly_:--I'se an 'ittle dirl named for you, I is, Daisy -Thornton, an' my papa is Mr. Guy, an' mam-ma is Julia, and 'ittle -brother is Guy, too--only he's a baby, and vomits up his dinner and ties -awfully sometimes; an' I knows anoder 'ittle dirl named for somebody who -dives her 'sings,' a whole lot, an' why doesn't youse dive me some, when -I'se your sake-name, an' loves you ever so much, and why you never turn -here to see me? I wish you would. I ask papa is you pretty, an' he tell -me yes, bootiful, an' every night I pays for you and say God bress papa -an' mam-ma, an' auntie, and Miss Mac-Dolly, and 'ittle brodder, an' make -Daisy a dood dirl, and have Miss Mac-Dolly send her sumptin' for -Tissmas, for Christ's sake. An' I wants a turly headed doll that ties -and suts her eyes when she does to seep, and wears a shash and a -pairesol, and anodder big dolly to be her mam-ma and pank her when she's -naughty, an' I wants an' 'ittle fat-iran, an' a cook-stove, an' -washboard. I'se dot a tub. An' I wants some dishes an' a stenshun table, -an' 'ittle bedstead, an' yuffled seets, an' pillars, an' bue silk kilt, -an' ever many sings which papa cannot buy, cause he hasn't dot the -money. Vill you send them, Miss Mac-Dolly, pese, an' your likeness, too. -I wants to see how you looks. My mam-ma is pretty, with back hair an' -eyes, but she's awful old--I dess. How old is you? Papa's hair is some -dray, an' his viskers, too. My eyes is bue. - - "Yours, respectfully, "_Daisy Thornton_." - - ---- - -Miss McDonald had been shopping since ten in the morning, and her -carriage had stood before dry goods stores, and toy shops, and candy -stores, while bundle after bundle had been deposited on the cushions and -others ordered to be sent. But she was nearly through now, and, just as -it was beginning to grow dark in the streets, she bade her coachman -drive home, where dinner was waiting for her in the dining-room, and her -mother was waiting in the parlor. Mrs. McDonald was not very well, and -had kept her room all day, but she was better that night, and came down -to dine with her daughter. The December wind was cold and raw, and a few -snowflakes fell on Daisy's hat and cloak as she ran up the steps and -entered the warm, bright room, which seemed so pleasant when contrasted -with the dreariness without. - -"Oh, how nice this is, and how tired and cold I am!" she said, as she -bent over the blazing fire. - -"Are you through with your shopping?" Mrs. McDonald asked, in a -half-querulous tone, as if she did not altogether approve of her -daughter's acts. - -"Yes, all through, except a shawl for old Sarah Mackie, and a few more -toys for Biddy Warren's blind boy," Daisy said, and her mother replied: -"Well, I'm sure I shall be glad for your sake when it is over. You'll -make youself sick, and you are nearly worn out now, remembering everbody -in New York." - -"Not quite everybody, mother," Daisy rejoined, cheerfully; "only those -whom everybody forgets,--the poor, whom we have with us always. Don't -you remember the text, and the little kirk where we heard it preached -from? But come,--dinner is ready, and I am hungry, I assure you." - -She led the way to the handsome dining-room, and took her seat at the -table, looking, in her dark street dress, as her mother had said, pale -and worn, as if the shopping had been very hard upon her. And yet it was -not so much the fatigue of the day which affected her as the remembrance -of a past she did not often dare to recall. - -It was at Christmas time years ago that she first met with Guy, and all -the day long, as she turned over piles of shawls, and delaines, and -flannels, or ordered packages of candy, and bonbons, and dollies by the -dozen, her thoughts had been with Guy and the time she met him at Leiter -and Field's and he walked home with her. It seemed to her years and -years ago, and the idea of having lived so long made her feel old and -tired and worn. But the nice dinner and the cheer of the room revived -her, and her face looked brighter and more rested when she returned to -the parlor, and began to show her mother her purchases. - -Daisy did not receive many letters except on business, and, as these -usually came in the morning, she did not think to ask if the postman had -left her anything; and so it was not until her mother had retired and -she was about going to her own room, that she saw a letter lying on the -hall-stand. Miss Barker, who had instigated the letter, had never -written to her more than once or twice, and then only short notes, and -she did not recognize the handwriting at once. But she saw it was -post-marked Cuylerville, and a sick, faint sensation crept over her as -she wondered who had sent it, and if it contained news of Guy. It was -long since she had heard of him,--not, in fact, since poor Tom's death; -and she knew nothing of the little girl called for herself, and thus had -no suspicion of the terrible shock awaiting her, when at last she broke -the seal. Miss Barker had written a few explanatory lines, which were as -follows: - - "_Cuylerville_, Dec., 18--. - -"_Dear Miss McDonald_:--Since saying good-bye to you last June, and -going off to the mountains and seaside, while you, like a good -Samaritan, stayed in the hot city to look after 'your people,' I have -flitted hither and thither until at last I floated out to Cuylerville to -visit Mrs. Guy Thornton, who is a friend and former schoolmate of mine. -Here,--not in the house, but in town,--I have heard a story which -surprised me not a little, and I now better understand that sad look I -have so often seen on your face without at all suspecting the cause. - -"Dear friend, pardon me, won't you, for the liberty I have taken since -knowing your secret? You would, I am sure, if you only knew what a dear, -darling little creature Mr. Thornton's eldest child is. Did you know he -had called her Daisy for you? He has, and with her blue eyes and bright -auburn hair, she might pass for your very own, with the exception of her -nose, which is decidedly _retrousse_. She is three years old, and the -most precocious little witch you ever saw. What think you of her making -up a bundle of shawls and aprons, and christening it _Miss Mac-Dolly_, -her name for you, and talking to it as if it were really the famous and -beautiful woman she fancies it to be? She is your 'sake-name,' she says, -and before I knew the facts of the case, I was greatly amused by her -talk to the bundle of shawls which she reproached for never having sent -her anything. When I asked Julia (that's Mrs. Thornton) who Miss -Mac-Dolly was, she merely answered, 'the lady for whom Daisy was named,' -and that was all I knew until the gossips enlightened me, when, without -a word to any one, I resolved upon a liberty which I thought I could -venture to take with you. I suggested the letter which I inclose, and -which I wrote exactly as the words came from the little lady's lips. -Neither Mr. Thornton, nor his wife, know aught of the letter, nor will -they unless you respond, for the child will keep her own counsel, I am -well assured. - -"Again forgive me if I have done wrong, and believe me, as ever, - - "Yours, sincerely, "_Ella Barker_." - - ---- - -Daisy's face was pale as ashes as she read Miss Barker's letter, and -then snatching up the other devoured its contents almost at a glance, -while her breath came in panting gasps, and her heart seemed trying to -burst through her throat. She could neither move nor cry out for a -moment, but sat like one turned to stone, with a sense of suffocation -oppressing her, and a horrible pain in her heart. She had thought the -grave was closed, the old wound healed by time and silence, and now a -little child had torn it open, and it was bleeding and throbbing again -with a pang such as she had never felt before, while there crept over -her such a feeling of desolation and loneliness, a want of something -unpossessed, as few have ever experienced. - -But for her own foolishness that sweet little child might have been -hers, she thought, as her heart went after the little one with an -indescribable yearning which made her stretch out her arms as if to take -the baby to her bosom and hold it there forever. Guy had called it for -_her_, and that touched her more than anything else. He had not -forgotten her then. She had never supposed he had, but to be thus -assured of it was very sweet, and as she thought of it, and read again -little Daisy's letter, the tightness about her heart and the choking -sensation in her throat began to give way, and one after another the -great tears rolled down her cheeks, slowly at first, but gradually -faster and faster until they fell in torrents, and a tempest of sobs -shook her frame, as with her head bowed upon her dressing-table she gave -vent to her grief. It seemed to her she never could stop crying or grow -calm again, for as often as she thought of the touching words, "I pays -for you," there came a fresh burst of sobs and tears, until at last -nature was exhausted, and with a low moan Daisy sank upon her knees and -tried to pray, the words which first sprang to her lips framing -themselves into thanks that somewhere in the world there was one who -prayed for her and loved her too, even though the love might have for -its object merely dolls, and candies, and toys. And these the child -should have in abundance, and Miss McDonald found herself longing for -the morrow in which to begin again the shopping she had thought was -nearly ended. - -It was in vain next day that her mother remonstrated against her going -out, pleading her white, haggard face and the rawness of the day. Daisy -was not to be detained at home, and before ten o'clock she was down on -Broadway, and the dolly with the "shash," and "pairesol," which she had -seen the day before under its glass case was hers for twenty-five -dollars, and the plainer bit of china, who was to be dollie's mother and -perform the parental duty of "panking her when she was naughty," was -also purchased, and the dishes, and the table, and stove, and bedstead, -with ruffled sheets, and pillow-cases, and blue satin spread, and the -washboard, and clothes-bars, and tiny wringer, and diverse other toys, -were bought with a disregard of expense which made Miss McDonald a -wonder to those who waited on her. Such a Christmas-box was seldom sent -to a child as that which Daisy packed in her room that night, with her -mother looking on and wondering what Sunday-school was to be the -recipient of all those costly presents, and suggesting that cheaper -articles would have answered just as well. - -Everything the child had asked for was there except the picture. That -Daisy dared not send, lest it should look too much like thrusting -herself upon Guy's notice and wound Julia his wife. - -Daisy was strangely pitiful in her thoughts of Julia, who would in her -turn have pitied her for her delusion, could she have known how sure she -was that but for the tardiness of that letter Guy would have chosen his -first love in preference to any other. - -And it was well that each believed herself first in the affection of the -man to whom Daisy wanted so much to send something as a proof of her -unalterable love. They were living still in the brown cottage; they were -not able to buy Elmwood back. Oh, if she only dared to do it, how gladly -her Christmas gift should be the handsome place which they had been so -proud of. But that would hardly do; Guy might not like to be so much -indebted to her; he was proud and sensitive in many points, and so she -abandoned the plan for the present, thinking that by and by she would -purchase and hold it as a gift to her namesake on her bridal day. That -will be better, she said, as she put the last article in the box and saw -it leave her door, directed to Guy Thornton's care. - - ---- - -Great was the surprise at the Brown Cottage, when, on the very night -before Christmas the box arrived and was deposited in the dining-room, -where Guy and Julia, Miss Barker and Daisy, gathered eagerly around it, -the later exclaiming: - -"I knows where it tum from, I do. My sake-name, Miss Mac-Dolly, send it, -see did. I writ and ask her would see, an' see hab." - -"What!" Guy said, as, man-like, he began deliberately to untie every -knot in the string which his wife in her impatience would have cut at -once. "What does the child mean? Do you know, Julia?" - -"I do. I'll explain," Miss Barker said, and in as few words as possible -she told what she had done, while Julia listened with a very grave face, -and Guy was pale to his lips as he went on untying the string and -opening the box. - -There was a letter lying on the top which he handed to Julia, who -steadied her voice to read aloud: - - "New York, December 22, 18--. - -"Darling little _sake-name_ _Daisy_:--Your letter made Miss Mack-Dolly -very happy, and she is so glad to send you the doll with a _shash_, and -the other toys. Write to me again and tell me if they suit you. God -bless you, sweet little one, is the prayer of - - "_Miss McDonald_." - -After that the grave look left Julia's face, and Guy was not quite so -pale, as he took out, one after another, the articles, which little -Daisy hailed with rapturous shouts and exclamations of delight. - -"Oh, isn't she dood, and don't you love her, papa?" she said, while Guy -replied: - -"Yes, it was certainly very kind in her, and generous. No other little -girl in town will have such a box as this." - -He was very white, and there was a strange look in his eyes, but his -voice was perfectly natural as he spoke, and one who knew nothing of his -former relations to Miss McDonald would never have suspected how his -whole soul was moved by this gift to his little daughter. - -"You must write and thank her," he said to Julia, who, knowing that this -was proper, assented without a word, and when on the morning after -Christmas Miss McDonald opened with trembling hands the envelope bearing -the Cuylerville post-mark, she felt a keen pang of disappointment in -finding only a few lines from Julia, who expressed her own and little -Daisy's thanks for the beautiful Christmas box, and signed herself: - - "Truly, _Mrs. Guy Thornton_." - -Not Julia, but Mrs. Guy, and that hurt Daisy more than anything else. - -"Mrs. Guy Thornton! Why need she thrust upon me the name I used to -bear?" she whispered, and her lip quivered a little, and the tears -sprang to her eyes as she remembered all that lay between the present -and the time when she had been Mrs. Guy Thornton. - -She was Miss McDonald now, and Guy was another woman's husband, and with -a bitter pain in her heart, she put away Julia's letter, saying, as she -did so, "And that's the end of that." - -The box business had not resulted just as she hoped it would. She had -thought Guy would write himself, and by some word or allusion assure her -of his remembrance, but instead, there had come to her a few perfectly -polite and well-expressed lines from Julia, who had the _impertinence_ -to sign herself Mrs. Guy Thornton! It was rather hard and sorely -disappointing, and for many days Miss McDonald's face was very white and -sad, and both the old and young whom she visited as usual wondered what -had come over the beautiful lady, to make her "so pale and sorry." - - - - -CHAPTER XI.--AT SARATOGA. - - -There were no more letters from Mrs. Guy Thornton until the next -Christmas, when another box went to little Daisy, and was acknowledged -as before. Then another year glided and a third box went to Daisy, and -then one summer afternoon in the August following, there came to -Saratoga a gay party from New York, and among other names registered at -one of the large hotels was that of Miss McDonald. It seemed to be her -party, or at least she was its center, and the one to whom the others -deferred as to their head. Daisy was in perfect health that summer, and -in unusually good spirits; and when in the evening, yielding to the -entreaties of her friends, she entered the ball-room, clad in flowing -robes of blue and white, with costly jewels on her neck and arms, she -was acknowledged at once as the star and belle of the evening. She did -not dance,--she rarely did that now, but after a short promenade through -the room she took a seat near the door, and was watching the gay -dancers, when she felt her arm softly touched, and turning saw her maid -standing by her, with an anxious, frightened look upon her face. - -"Come, please, come quick," she said, in a whisper; and following her -out, Miss McDonald asked what was the matter. - -"_This_, you must go away at once. I'll pack your things. I promised not -to tell, but I must. I can't see your pretty face all spoiled and ugly." - -"What do you mean?" the lady asked, and after a little questioning she -made out from the girl's statement, that in strolling on the back piazza -she had stumbled upon her first cousin, of whose whereabouts she had -known nothing for a long time. - -This girl, Marie, had, it seemed, come to Saratoga a week or ten days -before, with her master's family consisting of his wife and two little -children. As the hotel was crowded, they were assigned rooms for the -night in a distant part of the house, with a promise of something much -better on the morrow. In the morning, however, the lady, who had not -been well for some days, was too sick to leave her bed, and the doctor, -who was called in to see her, pronounced the disease,--here Sarah -stopped and gasped for breath, and looked behind her and all ways, and -finally whispered a word which made even Miss McDonald start a little -and wince with fear. - -"He do call it the _very-o-lord_," Sarah said, "but Mary says it's the -_very old one_ himself. She knows, she has had it, and you can't put -down a pin where it didn't have its claws. They told the landlord, who -was for putting them straight out of doors, but the doctor said the lady -must not be moved,--it was sure death to do it. It was better to keep -quiet, and not make a panic. Nobody need to know it in the house, and -their rooms are so far from everybody that nobody would catch it. So he -let them stay, and the gentleman takes care of her, and Mary keeps the -children in the next room, and carries and brings the things, and keeps -away from everybody. Two of the servants know it, and they've had it, -and don't tell, and she said I mustn't, nor come that side of the house, -but I must tell you so that you can leave to-morrow. The lady is very -bad, and nobody takes care of her but Mr. Thornton. Mary takes things to -the door, and leaves them outside where he can get them." - -"What did you call the gentleman?" Miss McDonald asked, her voice -faltering and her cheek blanching a little. - -"Mr. Thornton, from Cuylerville, a place far in the country," was the -girl's reply; and then, without waiting to hear more, Miss McDonald -darted away, and going to the office, turned the leaves of the Register -to the date of ten or eleven days ago, and read with a beating heart and -quick coming breath: - -"Mr. and Mrs. Guy Thornton, two children and servant. No. -- and --." - -Yes, it was Guy; there could be no mistake, and in an instant her -resolution was taken. Calling her maid, she sent for her shawl and hat, -and then, bidding her follow, walked away in the moonlight. The previous -summer when at Saratoga, she had received medical treatment from Dr. -Schwartz, whom she knew well, and to whose office she directed her -steps. He seemed surprised to see her at that hour, but greeted her -cordially, asked when she came to town and what he could do for her. - -"Tell me if this is still a safeguard," she said, baring her beautiful -white arm, and showing a large round scar. "Will this insure me against -disease?" - -The doctor's face flushed, and he looked uneasily at her as he took her -arm in his hand and examining the scar closely, said: - -"The points are still distinct. I should say the vaccination was -thorough." - -"But another will be safer. Have you fresh matter?" Daisy asked, and he -replied: - -"Yes, some just from a young, healthy cow. I never use the adulterated -stuff which has been humanized. How do I know what humors may be lurking -in the blood? Why, some of the fairest, sweetest babies are full of -scrofula." - -He was going on further with his discussion, when Daisy, who knew his -peculiarities, interrupted him. - -"Never mind the lecture now. Vaccinate me quick, and let me go." - -It was soon done; the doctor saying, as he put away his vial: - -"You were safe without it, I think, and with it you may have no fears -whatever." - -He looked at her curiously again as if asking what she knew or feared, -and observing the look, Daisy said to him: - -"Do you attend the lady at the hotel?" - -He bowed affirmatively and glanced uneasily at Sarah, who was looking on -in surprise. - -"Is she very sick?" was the next inquiry. - -"Yes, very sick." - -"And does no one care for her but her husband?" - -"No one." - -"Has she suffered for care,--a woman's care, I mean?" - -"Well, not exactly; and yet she might be more comfortable with a woman -about her. Women are naturally better nurses than men, and Mr. Thornton -is quite worn out, but it does not make much difference now; the -lady----" - -Daisy did not hear the last part of the sentence, and bidding him -good-night, she went back to the hotel as swiftly as she had left it, -while the doctor stood watching the flutter of her white dress, -wondering how she found it out, and if she would "tell and raise _Cain_ -generally." - -"Of course not. I know her better than that," he said, to himself. "Poor -woman" (referring then to Julia). "Nothing, I fear, can help her now." - -Meanwhile, Daisy had reached the hotel, and without going to her own -room, bade Sarah tell her the way to No. --. - -"What! Oh, Miss McDonald! You surely are not----" Sarah gasped, -clutching at the dress, which her mistress took from her grasp, saying: - -"Yes, I am going to see that lady. I know her, or of her, and I'm not -afraid. Must we let her die alone?" - -"But your face,--your beautiful face," Sarah said, and then Daisy did -hesitate a moment, and glancing into a hall mirror, wondered how the -face she saw there, and which she knew was beautiful, would look scarred -and disfigured as she had seen faces in New York. - -There was a momentary conflict, and then, with an inward prayer that -Heaven would protect her, she passed on down the narrow hall and knocked -softly at No. --, while Sarah stood wringing her hands in genuine -distress, and feeling as if her young mistress had gone to certain ruin. - - - - -CHAPTER XII.--IN THE SICK ROOM. - - -Julia had the small-pox in its most aggravated form. Where she took it, -or when, she did not know; nor did it matter. She _had_ it, and for ten -days she had seen no one but her husband and physician, and had no care -but such as Guy could give her. He had been unremitting in his -attention. Tender and gentle as a woman, he had nursed her night and -day, with no thought for himself and the risk he ran. It was a bad -disease at the best, and now in its worse type it was horrible, but -Julia bore up bravely, thinking always more of others than of herself, -and feeling so glad that Providence had sent them to those -out-of-the-way rooms, where she had at first thought she could not pass -a night comfortably. Her children were in the room adjoining, and she -could hear their little voices as they played together, or asked for -their mamma, and why they must not see her. Alas! they would never see -her again; she knew, and Guy knew it too. The doctor had told them so -when he left them that night, and between the husband and wife words had -been spoken such as are only said when hearts which have been one are -about to be severed for ever. - -To Julia there was no terror in death, save as it took her from those -she loved, her husband and her little ones, and these she had given into -God's keeping knowing His promises are sure. To Guy she had said: - -"You have made me so happy. I want you to remember when I am gone, that -I would not have one look or act of yours changed if I could, and yet, -forgive me, Guy, for saying it, but I know you must often have thought -of that other one whom, you loved first, and it may be best." - -Guy could not speak, but he smoothed her hair tenderly, and his tears -dropped upon the swollen face he could not kiss, as Julia went on. - -"But if you did, you never showed it in the least, and I bless you for -it. Take good care of my children; teach them to remember their mother, -and if in time there comes another in my place, and other little ones -than mine call you father, don't forget me quite, because I love you so -much. Oh, Guy, my darling, it is hard to say good-bye, and know that -after a little this world will go on the same as if I had never been. -Don't think I am afraid. I am not, for Jesus is with me, and I know I am -safe; but still there's a clinging to life, which has been so pleasant -to me. Tell your sister how I loved her. I know she will miss me, and be -good to my children, and if you ever meet _that other one_, tell -her,--tell her,--I----" - -The faint voice faltered here, and when it spoke again, it said: - -"Lift me up, Guy, so I can breathe better while I tell you." - -He lifted her up and held her in his arms, while through the open window -the summer air and the silver moonlight streamed, and in the distance -was heard the sound of music as the dance went merrily on. And just -then, when she was in the minds of both, Daisy came, and her gentle -knock broke the silence of the room and startled both Guy and Julia. - -Who was it that sought entrance to that death-laden, disease-poisoned -room? Not the doctor, sure, for he always entered unannounced, and who -else dared to come there? Thus Guy questioned, hesitating to answer the -knock, when to his utter surprise the door opened and a little figure, -clad in airy robes of white, with its bright hair wreathed with flowers -and gems, came floating in, the blue eyes shining like stars, and the -full red lips parted with the smile, half pleased, half shy, which Guy -remembered so well. - -"Daisy, Daisy!" he cried, and his voice rang like a bell through the -room, as, laying Julia's head back upon the pillow, he sprang to Daisy's -side, and taking her by the shoulder, pushed her gently toward the door, -saying: - -"Why have you come here? Leave us at once; don't you see? don't you -know?" and he pointed toward Julia, whose face showed so plainly in the -gaslight. - -"Yes, I know, and I came to help you take care of her. I am not afraid," -Daisy said, and freeing herself from his grasp, she walked straight up -to Julia and laid her soft white hand upon her head. "I am Daisy," she -said, "and I've come to take care of you. I just heard you were here. -How hot your poor head is; let me bathe it; shall I?" - -She went to the bowl, and wringing a cloth in ice water, bathed the sick -woman's head and held the cool cloth to the face and wiped the parched -lips and rubbed the feverish hands, while Guy stood, looking on, -bewildered and confounded, and utterly unable to say a word or utter a -protest to this angel, as it seemed to him, who had come unbidden to his -aid, forgetful of the risk she ran and the danger she incurred. Once, as -she turned her beautiful face to him and he saw how wondrously fair and -lovely it was, lovely with a different expression from any he had ever -seen there, it came over him with a thrill of horror that that face must -not be marred and disfigured with the terrible pestilence, and he made -another effort to send her away. But Daisy would not go. - -"I am not afraid," she said. "I have just been vaccinated, and there was -already a good scar on my arm; look!" and she pushed back her sleeve, -and showed her round, white arm with the mark upon it. - -Guy did not oppose her after that, but let her do what she liked, and -when, an hour later, the doctor came, he found his recent visitor -sitting on Julia's bed, with Julia's head lying against her bosom and -Julia herself asleep. Some word which sounded very much like -"thunderation" escaped his lips, but he said no more, for he saw in the -sleeping woman's face a look he never mistook. It was death; and ten -minutes after he entered the room Julia Thornton lay dead in Daisy's -arms. - -There was a moment or so of half consciousness, during which they caught -the words, "So kind in you; it makes me easier; be good to the children; -one is called for you, but Guy loved me too. Good-bye. I am going to -Jesus." - -That was the last she ever spoke, and a moment after she was dead. In -his fear lest the facts should be known to his guests, the host insisted -that the body should be removed under cover of the night, and as Guy -knew the railway officials would object to taking it on any train, there -was no alternative except to bury it in town; and so there was brought -to the room a close plain coffin, and Daisy helped lay Julia in it, and -put a white flower in her hair and folded her hands upon her bosom, and -then watched from the window the little procession which followed the -body out to the cemetery, where, in the stillness of the coming day, -they buried it, together with everything which had been used about the -bed, Daisy's party dress included; and when at last the full morning -broke, with stir and life in the hotel, all was empty and still in the -fumigated chamber of death, and in the adjoining room, clad in a simple -white wrapper, with a blue ribbon in her hair, Daisy sat with Guy's -little boy on her lap and her namesake at her side, amusing them as best -she could and telling them their mamma had gone to live with Jesus. - -"Who'll be our mamma now? We must have one. Will oo?" little Daisy -asked, as she hung about the neck of her new friend. - -She knew it was Miss Mack-Dolly, her "sake-name," and in her delight at -seeing her and her admiration of her great beauty, she forgot in part -the dead mamma on whose grave the summer sun was shining. - -The Thorntons left the hotel that day and went back to the house in -Cuylerville, which had been closed for a few weeks, for Miss Frances was -away with some friends in Connecticut. But she returned at once when she -heard the dreadful news, and was there to receive her brother and his -motherless little ones. He told her of Daisy when he could trust himself -to talk at all, of Julia's sickness and death, and Miss Frances felt her -heart go out as it had never gone before toward the woman about whom -little Daisy talked constantly. - -"Most bootiful lady," she said, "an' looked des like an 'ittle dirl, see -was so short, an' her eyes were so bue an' her hair so turly." - -Miss McDonald had won Daisy's heart, and knowing that made her own -happier and lighter than it had been since the day when the paper came -to her with the marked paragraph which crushed her so completely. There -had been but a few words spoken between herself and Guy, and these in -the presence of others, but at their parting he had taken her soft -little hand in his and held it a moment, while he said, with a choking -voice, "God bless you, Daisy. I shall not forgot your kindness to my -poor Julia, and if you should need,--but no, that is too horrible to -think of; may God spare you that. Good-bye." - -And that was all that passed between him and Daisy with regard to the -haunting dread which sent her in a few days to her own house in New -York, where, if the thing she feared came upon her, she would at least -be at home and know she was not endangering the lives of others. But God -was good to her, and though there was a slight fever with darting pains -in her back and a film before her eyes, it amounted to nothing worse, -and might have been the result of fatigue and over-excitement; and when, -at Christmas time, yielding to the importunities of her little namesake, -there was a picture of herself in the box sent to Cuylerville, the face -which Guy scanned even more eagerly than his daughter, was as smooth and -fair and beautiful as when he saw it at Saratoga, bending over his dying -wife. - - - - -CHAPTER XIII.--DAISY'S JOURNAL. - - - _New York_, June 14, 18--. - -To-morrow I am to take my old name of Thornton again, and be Guy's wife -once more. Nor does it seem strange at all that I should do so, for I -have never thought of myself as not belonging to him, even when I knew -he was married to another. And yet when that dreadful night at Saratoga -I went to Julia's room, there was in my heart no thought of this which -has come to me. I only wished to care for her and be a help to Guy. I -did not think of her dying, and after she was dead, there was not a -thought of the future in my mind until little Daisy put it there by -asking if I would be her mamma. Then I seemed to see it all, and -expected it up to the very day, six weeks ago, when Guy wrote to me, -"Daisy, I want you. Will you come to me again as my wife?" - -I was not surprised. I knew he would say it sometime, and I replied at -once, "Yes, Guy, I will." - -He has been here since, and we have talked it over, all the past when I -made him so unhappy, and when I, too, was so wretched, though I did not -say much about that, or tell him of the dull, heavy, gnawing pain which, -sleeping or waking, I carried with me so long, and only lost when I -began to live for others. I did speak of the letter, and said I had -loved him ever since I wrote it, and that his marrying Julia made no -difference, and then I told him of poor Tom, and what I said to him, not -from love but from a sense of duty, and when I told him how Tom would -not take me at my word, he held me close to him and said, "I am glad he -did not, my darling, for then you would never have been mine." - -I think we both wept over those two graves, one far off in sunny France, -the other in Saratoga, and both felt how sad it was that they must be -made in order to bring us together. Poor Julia! She was a noble woman, -and Guy did love her. He told me so, and I am glad of it. I mean to try -to be like her in those things wherein she excelled me. - -We are going straight to Cuylerville to the house where I never was but -once, and that on the night when Guy was sick and Miss Frances made me -go back in the thunder and rain. She is sorry for that, for she told me -so in the long, kind letter she wrote, calling me her little sister and -telling me how glad she is to have me back once more. Accidentally I -heard Elmwood was for sale, and without letting Guy know I bought it, -and sent him the deed, and we are going to make it the most attractive -place in the county. - -It will be our summer home, but in the winter my place is here in New -York with my people, who would starve and freeze without me. Guy has -agreed to that and will be a great help to me. He need never work any -more unless he chooses to do so, for my agent says I am a millionaire, -thanks to poor Tom, who gave me his gold mine and his interest in that -railroad. And for Guy's sake I am glad, and for his children, the -precious darlings; how much I love them already, and how kind I mean to -be to them both for Julia's sake and Guy's. Hush! That's his ring, and -there's his voice in the hall asking for Miss McDonald, and so for the -last time I write that name, and sign myself - - _Margaret McDonald_. - - ---- - - _Extracts from Miss Frances Thornton's Diary._ - - _Elmwood_, June 15th, --. - -I have been looking over an old journal, finished and laid away long -ago, and accidentally I stumbled upon a date eleven years back. It was -Guy's wedding day then; it is his anniversary now, and as on that June -day years ago I worked among my flowers, so have I been with them this -morning, and as then people from the Towers came into our beautiful -grounds, so they came to-day and praised our lovely place and said there -was no spot like it in all the country round. But Julia was not with -them. She will never come to us again. Julia is dead, and her grave is -in Saratoga, for Guy dare not have her moved, but he has erected a -costly monument to her memory, and the mound above her is like some -bright flower bed all the summer long, for he hires a man to tend it, -and goes twice each season to see that it is kept as he wishes to have -it. Julia is dead and Daisy is here again at Elmwood, which she -purchased with her own money, and fitted up with every possible -convenience and luxury. - -Guy is ten years younger than he used to be, and we are all so happy -with this little fairy, who has expanded into a noble woman, and whom I -love as I never loved a living being before, Guy excepted, of course. I -never dreamed when I turned her out into the rain that I should love her -as I do, or that she was capable of being what she is. I would not have -her changed in any one particular, and neither, I am sure, would Guy, -while the children fairly worship her, and must sometimes be troublesome -with their love and their caresses. - -It is just a year since she came back to us. We were in the small house -then, but Daisy's very presence seemed to brighten and beautify it, -until I was almost sorry to leave it last April for this grand place -with all its splendor. - -There was no wedding at all; that is, there were no invited guests, but -never had bride greater honor at her bridal than our Daisy had, for the -church where the ceremony was performed, at a very early hour in the -morning, was literally crowded with the halt, the lame, the maimed and -the blind; the slum of New York; gathered from every back street, and -by-lane, and gutter; Daisy's "people," as she calls them, who came to -see her married, and who, strangest of all, brought with them a present -for the bride; a beautiful family Bible, golden clasped and bound, and -costing fifty dollars. Sandy McGraw presented it, and he had written -upon the fly leaf, "To the dearest friend we ever had, we give this -book, as a slight token of how much we love her." Then followed, upon a -sheet of paper, the names of the donors and how much each gave. Oh, how -Daisy cried when she saw the _ten cents_, and the _five cents_, and the -_three cents_, and the _one cent_, and knew it had all been earned and -saved at some personal sacrifice for her. I do believe she would have -kissed every one of them if Guy had permitted it. She did kiss the -children and shook every hard, soiled hand there, and then Guy took her -away and brought her to our home, where she has been the sweetest, -merriest, happiest, little creature that ever a man called wife, or a -woman sister. She does leave her things round a little, to be sure, and -she is not always ready for breakfast. I guess she never will wholly -overcome those habits, but I can put up with them now better than I -could once. Love makes a vast difference in our estimate of others, and -she could scarcely ruffle me now, even if she kept breakfast waiting -every morning and left her clothes lying three garments deep upon the -floor. As for Guy,--but his happiness is something I cannot describe. -Nothing can disturb his peace, which is as firm as the everlasting -hills. He does not caress her as much as he did once, but his thoughtful -care of her is wonderful, and she is never long from his sight without -his going to seek her. - -May God bless them and keep them always as they are now, at peace with -Him and all in all to each other. - - - - THE END. - - - POPULAR NOVELS BY _MRS. MARY J. HOLMES._ - - _Tempest and Sunshine._ - _English Orphans._ - _Homestead on Hillside._ - _'Lena Rivers._ - _Meadow Brook._ - _Dora Deane._ - _Cousin Maude._ - _Marian Grey._ - _Edith Lyle._ - _Daisy Thornton._ - _Chateau d'Or_ (_New_). - - _Darkness and Daylight._ - _Hugh Worthington._ - _Cameron Pride._ - _Rose Mather._ - _Ethelyn's Mistake._ - _Millbank._ - _Edna Browning._ - _West Lawn._ - _Mildred_. - _Forrest House_ (_New_). - -"Mrs. Holmes is a peculiarly pleasant and fascinating writer. Her books - are always entertaining, and she has the rare faculty of enlisting the - sympathy and affections of her readers, and of holding their attention - to her pages with deep and absorbing interest." - - All published uniform with this volume. Price $1.50 each. Sold - everywhere, and sent _free_ by mail on receipt of price. - -BY -G. W. CARLETON & CO., Publishers, -New York. - - - - - - *** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DAISY THORNTON *** - - - - -A Word from Project Gutenberg - - -We will update this book if we find any errors. - -This book can be found under: http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/37467 - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no one -owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation (and -you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without permission -and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, set forth in the -General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to copying and -distributing Project Gutenberg(tm) electronic works to protect the -Project Gutenberg(tm) concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a -registered trademark, and may not be used if you charge for the eBooks, -unless you receive specific permission. If you do not charge anything -for copies of this eBook, complying with the rules is very easy. 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