Daisy did not stay by Tom that night.  There was no necessity for it, and she was so worn and weary with watching that the physician declared she must have absolute rest or be sick again herself.  So she remained away, and in a little room by herself fought the fiercest battle she had ever fought, and on her knees, with tears and bitter cries, asked for help to do right.  Not for help to know what was right.  She felt sure that she did know that, only the flesh was weak, and there were chords of love still clinging to a past she scarcely dared think of now lest her courage should fail her.  Guy was lost to her forever; it was a sin even to think of him as she must think if she thought at all, and so she strove to put him from her—­to tear his image from her heart and put another in its place, even Tom, whom she pitied so much, and whom she could make so happy.

“No matter for myself,” she said.  “No matter what I feel, or how sharp the pain in my heart, if I only keep it there and never let Tom know.  I can make him happy, and I will.”

There was no wavering after that decision—­no regret for the “might have been,” but her face was white as snow, and about the pretty mouth there was a quivering of the muscles as if the words were hard to utter when next day she went to Tom, and, sitting down beside him, asked how he was feeling.  His eyes brightened a little when he saw her, but there was a look on his face which made Daisy’s pulse quicken with a nameless fear, and his voice was very weak as he replied: 

“They say I am better; but, Daisy, I know the time is near for me to go.  I shall never get well, nor do I wish to, though life is not a gift to be thrown away easily, and on some accounts mine has been a happy one, but the life beyond is better, and I feel sure I am going to it.”

“Oh, Tom, Tom, don’t talk so!  You must not leave me now!” Daisy cried, all her composure giving way as she fell on her knees beside him, and, taking both his hands in hers, wet them with her tears.  “Tom,” she began, when she could speak.  “I have been bad to you so often, and worried and wounded you so much; but I am sorry, so sorry, and I’ve thought it all over and made up my mind, and I want you to get well and ask me that—­that—­question again—­you have asked so many times—­and—­and—­Tom—­I will say—­yes—­to it now, and try so hard to make you happy.”

Her face was crimson as if with shame, and she dared not look at Tom until his silence startled her.  Then she stole a glance at his face and met an expression which prompted her to go on recklessly: 

“Don’t look so incredulous, Tom.  I am in earnest.  I mean what I say, though it may be unmaidenly to say it.  Try me, Tom; I will make you happy, and, though at first I cannot love you as I did Guy when I sent him that letter, the love will come, born of your great goodness and kindness of heart.  Try me, Tom, won’t you?”