of
sight. Then Daisy's feet made haste up the stairs. In three minutes she
was back again, with her hat and gloves in her hand.

The doctor threw down his newspaper and drew her up to him.

"Daisy, can you be quiet?"

"I think so, Dr. Sandford."

"I think so too; therefore I tell you beforehand that I wish it. Your
father has not fully recovered his strength yet; and it would not be
good for him to be excited. You will be very glad to see him, and he
will be very glad to see you; that is quite enough; and it would be too
much, if you were to shew him _how_ glad you are."

Daisy said nothing, but she thought within herself she could not do
that!

"Can you command yourself, Daisy?"

"I will try, Dr. Sandford."

"You _must_ do it--for my sake," added the doctor.

"Dr. Sandford," said Daisy, "was that what you meant?"

"When?"

"When you said, if I was a good child?"

"It must have been that I meant, I think. I could have said it in no
other connection."

"The pony-chaise, ma'am, for Miss Randolph--" said a servant at the
door.

"The chaise may go away again, Daisy, I suppose," said Mrs. Sandford.
"You will not want it."

"Yes, she will," said the doctor,--"to drive to Melbourne. Go, Daisy,
since you are ready; I will follow you. That little waddling fellow can
be overtaken without any great difficulty."

"Do you want me to drive slowly, sir?"

"Not at all," said the doctor; "only drive well, for I shall come and
see."

If ever a little pride in her driving accomplishments had lodged in
Daisy's mind, she certainly did not feel it that afternoon. She drove
without knowing very well how she drove; she did not think of Dr.
Sandford's criticism, or admiration; what she thought of, was the miles
of the road to Melbourne.

They were not very many, and unconsciously the eager spirit in Daisy's
fingers made itself known to Loupe's understanding, through the medium
of the reins. He travelled better than usual, so that they were not more
than half way from Melbourne when the doctor's gig overtook them. And
then Loupe went better yet.

"Remember, Daisy, and keep quiet--" said the doctor as he took her out
of the chaise. Daisy trembled, but she followed him steadily through the
hall and up the stairs and into her father's room. Then she went before
him, yet even then she went with a moderated step, and stood by her
father's couch at last silent and breathless. Breathless with the very
effort she made to ke