her go. But tea was not much more to Daisy than dinner had
been; and when Mrs. Sandford offered to shew her to her room if she
desired it, Daisy accepted the offer at once.

Mrs. Sandford herself wished to supply the place of June, and would have
done everything for her little guest if she could have been permitted.
Daisy negatived all such proposals. She could do everything for herself,
she said; she wanted no help. A bag of things had been packed for her
by June and brought in the doctor's gig. Daisy was somehow sorry to see
them; they looked like preparations for staying.

"We will send for June to-morrow, Daisy, if your mamma will leave you
still with me."

"O, I shall go home to-morrow--I hope," said Daisy. "I hope--" she
repeated humbly.

"Yes, I hope so," said Mrs. Sandford. She kissed Daisy and went away. It
was all Daisy wanted, to be alone. The October night was mild; she went
to the window; one of the windows, which looked out upon the grass and
trees of the courtyard, now lighted by a faint moon. Daisy sunk down on
her knees there; the sky and the stars were more homelike than anything
else; and she felt so strange, so miserable, as her little heart had
never known anything like before. She knew well enough what it all
meant, her mother's sending her away from home, her father's not being
able to bear any disturbance. Speak as lightly, look as calmly as they
would, she knew what was the meaning underneath people's faces and
voices. Her father had been very much hurt; quite well Daisy was assured
of that. He was too ill to see her, or too ill for her mother to like
her to see him. Daisy knelt down; she remembered she had a Father in
heaven, but it seemed at first as if she was too broken hearted to pray.
Yet down there through the still moonlight she remembered his eye could
see her and she knew he had not forgotten his little child. Daisy never
heard her door open; but it did once, and some time after it did again.

"I do not know what to do--" said Mrs. Sandford down stairs. There the
lamps made a second bright day; and the two gentlemen were busy over the
table with newspapers and books. Both of them looked up, at the sound of
her perplexed voice.

"That child,--" said Mrs. Sandford. "She is not in bed yet."

The lady stood by the table; she had just come from Daisy's room.

"What is she doing?" her husband asked.

"I don't know. She is kneeling by the open window. She was there an hour
ago, and