“O no, Miss Daisy—­not yet; you’ve got a great deal to do in the world first.”

“Jesus knows I love him—­” repeated the child.

“Miss Daisy, he knowed it before—­he’s the Lord.”

“Yes, but—­he wants people to shew they love him, June.”

“Do, don’t!  Miss Daisy,” said June half crying.  “Can’t ye go to sleep?  Do, now!”

It was but three minutes more, and Daisy had complied with her request.  June watched and saw that the sleep was real; went about the room on her noiseless feet; came back to Daisy’s bed, and finally went off for her own pillow, with which she lay down on the matting at the foot of the bed, and there passed the remainder of the night.

CHAPTER XV.

The sun was shining bright the next morning, and Daisy sat on one of the seats under the trees, half in sunshine, half in shadow.  It was after breakfast, and she had been scarcely seen or heard that morning before.  Ransom, came up.

“Daisy, do you want to go fishing?”

“No, I think not.”

“You don’t!  What are you going to do?”

“I am not going to do anything.”

“I don’t believe it.  What ails you?  Mother said I was to ask you—­and there you sit like a wet feather.  I am glad I am not a girl, however!”

Ransom went off, and a very faint colour rose in Daisy’s cheek.

“Are you not well, Daisy?” said Mr. Randolph, who had also drawn near.

“I am well, papa.”

“You don’t look so.  What’s the matter, that you don’t go a fishing, when Ransom has the consideration to ask you?”

Daisy’s tranquillity was very nearly overset.  But she maintained it, and only answered without the change of a muscle, “I have not the inclination, papa.”  Indeed her face was too quiet; and Mr. Randolph putting that with its colourless hue, and the very sweet upward look her eyes had first given him, was not satisfied.  He went away to the breakfast room.

“Felicia,” said he low, bending down by his wife,—­“did you have any words with Daisy last night?”

“Has she told you about it?” said Mrs. Randolph.

“Told me what?  What is there to tell?”

“Nothing, on my part,” answered the lady nonchalantly.  “Daisy may tell you what she pleases.”

“Felicia,” said Mr. Randolph looking much vexed, “that child has borne too much already.  She is ill.”

“It is her own fault.  I told you, Mr. Randolph, I would as lief not have a child as not have her mind me.  She shall do what I bid her, if she dies for it.”

“It won’t come to that,” said Mrs. Gary.  Mr. Randolph turned on his heel.

Meantime, another person who had seen with sorrow Daisy’s pale face, and had half a guess as to the cause of it, came up to her side and sat down.

“Daisy, what is to be done to-day?”

“I don’t know, Capt.  Drummond.”