she is there yet. She has not moved since."

"She has fallen asleep--" suggested Mr. Sandford. "I should say, wake
her up."

"She is too wide awake now. She is lifting her little face to the sky,
in a way that breaks my heart. And there she has been, this hour and
more."

"Have some supper directly, and call her down,--" was the second
suggestion of the master of the house. "It will be supper-time soon.
Here--it's some time after nine."

"Grant, what is the matter with Mr. Randolph? Is it very serious?"

"Mrs. Randolph thinks so, I believe. Have you spoken to Daisy?"

"No, and I cannot. Unless I had good news to carry to her."

"Where is she?" said the doctor getting up.

"In the room next to yours."

So Mrs. Sandford sat down and the doctor went up stairs. The next thing
he stood behind Daisy at her window. She was not gazing into the sky
now; the little round head lay on her arms on the window-sill.

"What is going on here?" said a soft voice behind her.

"O! Dr. Sandford--" said the child jumping up. She turned and faced her
friend, with a face so wistful and searching, so patient, yet so
strained with its self-restraint and fear, that the doctor felt it was
something serious with which he had to do. He did not attempt a light
tone before that little face; he felt that it would not pass.

"I came up to see _you_" he said. "I have nothing new to tell, Daisy.
What are you about?"

"Dr. Sandford," said the child, "won't you tell me a little?"

The inquiry was piteous. For some reason or other, the doctor did not
answer it with a put-off, nor with flattering words, as doctors are so
apt to do. Perhaps it was not his habit, but certainly in other respects
he was not too good a man to do it. He sat down and let the moonlight
show Daisy his face.

"Daisy," he said, "your father was stunned by his blow, and needs to be
kept in perfect quiet for a time, until he is quite over it. People
after such a fall often do; but I do not know that any other
consequences whatever will follow."

"He was stunned--" repeated Daisy.

"Yes."

The child did not say any more, yet her eyes of searching eagerness
plainly asked for fuller information. They were not content nor at rest.

"Can't you have patience and hope for other tidings to-morrow?"

"May I?--" said Daisy.

"May you? Certainly. It was your mother's wish to send you here--not
mine. It was not needful; though if you could be content, I think it
would be w