Daisy shed some tears about it; yet not a great many, and without the least bitterness in them.  But she felt faint and tired and disappointed.  Here, however, at her own room window, and alone, there was no bar to thanksgivings; and Daisy had them in her heart, as well as prayers for the people who had them not.  She was too tired to pray at last; she only knelt at the window with her arms on the sill, (Daisy was raised up on an ottoman) and looked out at the moonlight, feeling as if she was going into a dream.

“Miss Daisy!”—­said the smothered voice of June behind her—­“are you there, Miss Daisy?”

June’s accent was doubtful and startled.  Daisy turned round.

“Miss Daisy!—­I thought you was in the supper-room.”

“No, June—­I’m here.”

“Will you go to bed, Miss Daisy?”

“I wish, June, you would get me something to eat, first,” said Daisy languidly.

“Didn’t you get your supper, Miss Daisy?”

“No, and I’m hungry.  I haven’t had anything since the dinner at the lake.  I wish you’d make haste, June.”

June knew from Daisy’s way of speaking, as well as from the facts of the case, that there was some trouble on foot.  She went off to get supper, and as she went along the passages the mulatto woman’s hand was clenched upon itself, though her face shewed only its usual wrinkles.

Small delay was there before she was back again, and with her June had brought a supply of very nearly everything there had been on the supper-table.  She set down her tray, prepared a table for Daisy, and placed a chair.  The room was light now with two wax candles.  Daisy sat down and took a review.

“What will you have now, Miss Daisy? here’s some hot oysters—­nice and hot.  I’ll get you some ice cream when you’re ready to eat it—­Hiram’s got it in the freezer for you.  Make haste, Miss Daisy—­these oysters is good.”

But Daisy did not make haste.  She looked at the supper tray thoughtfully.

“June,” she said with a very gentle pure glance of her eyes up at the mulatto woman’s face—­“I am very much obliged to you—­but I don’t think mamma means me to eat these things to-night—­Will you just get me some milk and some bread?  I’ll take some bread and milk!”

“Miss Daisy, these oysters is good for you,” said June.

“I’ll take some bread and milk to-night—­if you will please make haste.  Thank you, June.”

“Miss Daisy—­then maybe take a sandwich.”

“No—­I will have nothing but bread and milk.  Only quick, June.”

June went off for the bread and milk, and then very unwillingly carried her supper-tray down stairs again.  Going through one of the passages she was met by her master.

“Where is that coming from, June?” he asked her in surprise.

“From Miss Daisy’s room, sir.”

“Has she been taking supper up there?”

“No, sir—­Miss Daisy wouldn’t touch nothing.”