“Why there you are!” said the lady—­“come the other way.  What news?”

“I have no news.”

“Yes, but how is Mr. Randolph?” The lady had dropped her voice very low.

“He is sensible.”

“Sensible!” Mrs. Sandford said with a startled look; but then drawing the doctor silently to her side she pointed to the watching, anxious little figure there on the steps.  It did not need that Dr. Sandford should speak her name.  Daisy had perfectly well heard and understood the words that had passed; and now she rose up slowly and came towards the doctor who stepped out to meet her.

“Well, Daisy—­have you been looking for me?” he said.  But something in the little upturned face admonished him that no light words could be borne.  He sat down and took her hand.

“Your father looks better than he did this morning; but he feels badly yet after his fall.”

Daisy looked at him and was silent a moment.

“Will they send for me home?”

“Not to-night, I think.  Mrs. Randolph thought better that you should stay here.  Can’t you do it contentedly?”

Daisy made no audible answer; her lip quivered a very little; it did not belie the singular patience which sat upon her brow.  Her hand lay yet in the doctor’s; he held it a little closer and drew the child affectionately to his side, keeping her there while he talked with Mrs. Sandford upon other subjects; for he said no more about Melbourne.  Still while he talked he kept his arm round Daisy, and when tea was brought he hardly let 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