It was empty and dark, except for the moonlight without;
June had not expected her to be there, and had not made preparation.
Daisy went and kneeled down in her old place by her window; her eyes
filled as full of tears as they could hold. She bent her little head to
brush them away, but they came again. Daisy was faint and tired; she
wanted her supper very much; and she had enjoyed the supper-table very
much; it was a great mortification to exchange it for the gloom and
silence of her moonlit room. She had not a bit of strength to keep her
spirits up. Daisy felt weak. And what was the matter? Only--that she
had, against her mother's pleasure, repeated her acknowledgment of the
hand that had given her all good things. How many good things that day!
And was she not to make such acknowledgment any more? Ought she to
please her mother in this? Had she really done wrong? Daisy could not
tell; she thought not; she could not wish she had not done what she did;
but at the same time it was very miserable to have Mrs. Randolph at odds
with her on such a point as this.

Daisy shed some tears about it; yet not a great many, and without the
least bitterness in them. But she felt faint and tired and disappointed.
Here, however, at her own room window, and alone, there was no bar to
thanksgivings; and Daisy had them in her heart, as well as prayers for
the people who had them not. She was too tired to pray at last; she only
knelt at the window with her arms on the sill, (Daisy was raised up on
an ottoman) and looked out at the moonlight, feeling as if she was going
into a dream.

"Miss Daisy!"--said the smothered voice of June behind her--"are you
there, Miss Daisy?"

June's accent was doubtful and startled. Daisy turned round.

"Miss Daisy!--I thought you was in the supper-room."

"No, June--I'm here."

"Will you go to bed, Miss Daisy?"

"I wish, June, you would get me something to eat, first," said Daisy
languidly.

"Didn't you get your supper, Miss Daisy?"

"No, and I'm hungry. I haven't had anything since the dinner at the
lake. I wish you'd make haste, June."

June knew from Daisy's way of speaking, as well as from the facts of the
case, that there was some trouble on foot. She went off to get supper,
and as she went along the passages the mulatto woman's hand was clenched
upon itself, though her face shewed only its usual wrinkles.

Small delay was there before she was back again, and with her June had
brought a su