am all--all--alone," she would sigh, drearily.

Again she fancied she was with Rex, standing beneath the magnolia
boughs in the sunshine; again, she was clinging to his arm--while some
cruel woman insulted her--sobbing pitifully upon his breast; again,
she was parting from him at the gate, asking him if what they had done
was right; then she was in some school-room, begging piteously for
some cruel letter; then out on the waves in the storm and the
on-coming darkness of night.

The sisters relieved one another at regular intervals. They had ceased
to listen to her pathetic little appeals for help, or the wild cries
of agony that burst from the red feverish lips as she started up from
her slumbers with stifled sobs, moaning out that the time was flying;
that she must escape anywhere, anywhere, while there were still
fifteen minutes left her.

She never once mentioned Stanwick's name, or Septima's, but called
incessantly for Rex and poor old Uncle John.

"Who in the world do you suppose Rex is?" said Matilda, thoughtfully.
"That name is continually on her lips--the last word she utters when
she closes her eyes, the first word to cross her lips when she awakes.
That must certainly be the handsome young fellow she met at the gate.
If he is Rex I do not wonder the poor child loved him so. He was the
handsomest, most noble-looking, frank-faced young man I have ever
seen; and he took on in a way that made me actually cry when I told
him she was married. He would not believe it, until I called the child
and she told him herself it was the truth. I was sorry from the bottom
of my heart that young fellow had not won her instead of this
Stanwick, they were so suited to each other."

"Ah," said Ruth, after a moment's pause, "I think I have the key to
this mystery. She loves this handsome Rex, that is evident; perhaps
they have had a lovers' quarrel, and she has married this one on the
spur of the moment through pique. Oh, the pretty little dear!" sighed
Ruth. "I hope she will never rue it."

CHAPTER XV.

Slowly the days came and went for the next fortnight. The crisis had
passed, and Dr. West said she would soon recover. The beautiful, long,
golden hair had been shorn from the pretty little head, and the
rose-bloom had died out of the pretty cheeks, but the bright, restless
light never left the beautiful blue eyes--otherwise there was but
little change in Daisy.

It had been just two weeks that morning, they told