ut and sing your song. Do not give me
another refusal!"

But Daisy stood, growing paler and paler, till the whiteness reached her
lips, and her father saw that in another minute she would fall. He
snatched her from the floor and placed her upon his knee with his arm
round her; but though conscious that she was held against his breast,
Daisy was conscious too that there was no relenting in it; she knew her
father; and her deadly paleness continued. Mr. Randolph saw that there
would be no singing that night, and that the conflict between Daisy and
him must be put off to another day. Making excuse to those near, that
she was not well, he took his little daughter in his arms and carried
her up stairs to her own room. There he laid her on the bed and rang for
June, and staid by her till he saw her colour returning. Then without a
word he left her.

Meanwhile Capt. Drummond, down stairs, had taken a quiet seat in a
corner; his talking mood having deserted him.

"Did I ever walk up to the cannon's mouth like that?" he said to
himself.

CHAPTER XI.

Daisy kept herself quite still while her father and June were present.
When Mr. Randolph had gone down stairs, and June seeing her charge
better, ventured to leave her to get some brandy and water, then Daisy
seized that minute of being alone to allow herself a few secret tears.
Once opened, the fountain of tears gushed out a river; and when June
came back Daisy was in an agony which prevented her knowing that anybody
was with her. In amaze June set down the brandy and water and looked on.
She had never in her life seen Daisy so. It distressed her; but though
June might be called dull, her poor wits were quick to read some signs;
and troubled as she was, she called neither Daisy's father nor her
mother. The child's state would have warranted such an appeal. She never
heard June's tremulous "Don't, Miss Daisy!" She was shaken with the
sense of the terrible contest she had brought on herself; and grieved to
the very depths of her tender little heart that she must bear the
displeasure of her father and her mother. She struggled with tears and
agitation until she was exhausted, and then lay quiet, panting and pale,
because she had no strength to weep longer.

"Miss Daisy," said June, "drink this."

"What is it?"

"It is brandy and water. It is good for you."

"I am not faint. I don't like it."

"Miss Daisy, please! You want something. It will make you feel better
a