a band of gypsies had decoyed her away while carelessly straying too far from her home, but nothing definite was known.  Mrs. Templeton, a kind, motherly woman, without children, had cheerfully given the little stranger shelter, and had in time grown so fond of her that she could not bear the thought of parting.  Hence, after the first unsuccessful effort, no further attempt had been made to discover the parentage of the little waif.  She called herself Daisy, in her lisping fashion, and her lovely disposition had won for her the poetical title of “Daisy of the Glen.”

Mr. Clay listened earnestly, and when about to leave, he deposited a sum of money for the benefit of the little girl’s education.

* * * * *

Ten years after, two figures sat in earnest conversation on the verdant cliff of a romantic ravine leading from the banks of Dix river.  The one, a young girl of remarkably fair exterior, turned in an animated manner to impress some assertion upon her companion.  The other, a youth so exceedingly handsome in face and figure, so lithe of person and eloquent of speech, that no girl of eighteen could long resist his attractions.

“Indeed, Roye, I knew it must be he and no other.  He made an impression upon my memory when a little child of eight years, that can never be effaced.  Who else would be so likely to interest himself in my fate?”

“Indeed, Daisy,” he echoed, “who is disposed to doubt the truth of your surmises?  You are probably correct, yet on the other hand, what proof have you that Mr. Clay is your unknown benefactor?”

“None at all except the fact that he honored me so far on that memorable visit to the school, as to inquire all about me.  More than that he came to the house and asked me a number of questions about my infancy.  Without his help I could never have gone away to complete my education or possessed any accomplishments.  Poor mamma always thought the money came from him, and almost her last injunction to me, was to hold him in profound veneration as long as I live.”

“And it was here they found my little wanderer,” fondly exclaimed Roye Howard.  “I should never, probably, have known true happiness but for the vagabond who stole my Daisy!”

The girl’s face clouded for a moment.

“Are you willing, Roye, to take me with this mystery hanging over me?  If there is nothing hid that shall not be revealed, how do we know at what moment some revelation may come upon us that will dash our hopes to the earth?”

“Never, never!” impetuously replied the youth.  “Nature cannot so belie herself as to make a blot or stain possible to her fairest creation.”

Blushing beneath his admiring gaze, and thrilling with pleasure at his words, Daisy proceeded to repeat all that she had ever remembered of her home and parents.  A large house, a doll as big as herself, and a tender face bending above her, comprised her store of reminiscences.  Since the death of her foster mother she had remained with friends, and was soon to be united in marriage to Roye Howard, a rising young lawyer, reared in Lexington, and established at Lancaster only a few months.