sense of the kind, Daisy. Sing immediately!" But Daisy
stood still.

"Do you refuse me?"

"Mamma--" said Daisy pleadingly.

"Go and fetch me a card from the table."

Daisy obeyed. Mrs. Randolph rapidly wrote a word or two on it with a
pencil.

"But where is the gypsy?" cried Gary McFarlane.

"She has not found her voice yet. Take that to your father, Daisy."

Daisy's knees literally shook under her as she moved across the room to
obey this order. Mr. Randolph was sitting at some distance talking with
one of the gentlemen. He broke off when Daisy came up with the card.

"What is it your mother wishes you to sing?" he inquired, looking from
the writing to the little bearer. Daisy answered very low.

"A gypsy song from an opera."

"Can you sing it?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then do so at once, Daisy."

The tone was quiet but imperative. Daisy stood with eyes cast down, the
blood all leaving her face to reinforce some attacked region. She grew
white from second to second.

"It is the charge of the Light Brigade," said Capt. Drummond to himself.
He had heard and watched the whole proceeding and had the key to it. He
thought good-naturedly to suggest to Daisy an escape from her
difficulty, by substituting for the opera song something else that she
_could_ sing. Rising and walking slowly up and down the room, he hummed
near enough for her to hear and catch it, the air of "Die in the field
of battle." Daisy heard and caught it, but not his suggestion. It was
the thought of the _words_ that went to her heart,--not the thought of
the tune. She stood as before, only clasped her little hands close upon
her breast. Capt. Drummond watched her. So did her father, who could
make nothing of her.

"Do you understand me, Daisy?"

"Papa--"

"Obey me first, and then talk about it."

Daisy was in no condition to talk; she could hardly breathe that one
word. She knew the tone of great displeasure in her father's voice. He
saw her condition.

"You are not able to sing at this minute," said he. "Go to your room--I
will give you ten minutes to recover yourself. Then, Daisy, come here
and sing--if you like to be at peace with me."

But Daisy did not move; she stood there with her two hands clasped on
her breast.

"Do you mean that you will not?" said Mr. Randolph.

"If it wasn't Sunday, papa--" came from Daisy's parted lips.

"Sunday?" said Mr. Randolph--"is that it? Now we know where we are.
Daisy--do you hear me?--turn abo