nded hug. Daisy's new
friend had passed from her memory, and she stared pathetically at the
strange lady and the sunburnt child.

'Oh, grandmother, what great eyes you've got!' And Daisy ran
laughingly towards her.

The usual repartee was wanting.

'And the room is not tidied up,' Natalya said reproachfully, and began
dusting a chair for the visitor. But the old lady waved it aside.

'I have come to thank you for all you have done for my grandchild.'

'_Your_ grandchild?' Natalya fell back on the bed.

'Yes. I have had inquiries made--it is quite certain. Daisy was even
called after me. I am glad of that, at least.' Her voice faltered.

Natalya sat as bolt upright as years of bending under sacks would
allow.

'And you have come to take her from me!' she shrieked.

Already Daisy's new ruddiness seemed to her the sign of life that
belonged elsewhere.

'No, no, do not be alarmed. I have suffered enough from my
selfishness. It was my bad temper drove my daughter from me.' She
bowed her silver head till her form seemed as bent as Natalya's. 'What
can I do to repair--to atone? Will you not come and live with me in
the country, and let me care for you? I am not rich, but I can offer
you every comfort.'

Natalya shook her head. 'I am a Jewess. I could not eat with you.'

'That's just what _I_ told her, grandmother,' added Daisy eagerly.

'Then the child must remain with you at my expense,' said the old
lady.

'But if she likes the country so----' murmured Natalya.

'I like you better, grandmother.' And Daisy laid her ruddied cheek to
the withered cheek, which grew wet with ecstasy.

'She calls _you_ "grandmother," not me,' said the old gentlewoman with
a sob.

'Yes, and I wished her mother dead. God forgive me!'

Natalya burst into a passion of tears and rocked to and fro, holding
Daisy tightly to her faintly pulsing heart.

'What did you say?' Daisy's grandmother flamed and blazed with her
ancient anger. 'You wished my Madge dead?'

Natalya nodded her head. Her arms unloosed their hold of Daisy. 'Dead,
dead, dead,' she repeated in a strange, crooning voice. Gradually a
vacant look crept over her face, and she fell back again on the bed.
She looked suddenly very old, despite her glossy black wig.

'She is ill!' Daisy shrieked.

The cobbler's wife ran in and helped to put her back between the
sheets, and described volubly her obstinacy in leaving her bed.
Natalya lived till near noon of the next day,