swallowed. Then with one last piteous appeal to Heaven for
forgiveness, poor, helpless little Daisy closed her eyes and sprung
into the air.

CHAPTER XVI.

A strong hand drew Daisy quickly back.

"Rash child! What is this that you would do?" cried an eager, earnest
voice, and, turning quickly about, speechless with fright, Daisy met
the stern eyes of the apothecary bent searchingly, inquiringly upon
her.

"It means that I am tired of life," she replied, desperately. "My life
is so full of sadness it will be no sorrow to leave it. I wanted to
rest quietly down there, but you have held me back; it is useless to
attempt to save me now. I have already swallowed a portion of the
laudanum. Death must come to relieve me soon. It would be better to
let me die down there where no one could have looked upon my face
again."

"I had no intention to let you die so easily," said the apothecary,
softly. "I read your thoughts too plainly for that. I did not give you
laudanum, but a harmless mixture instead, and followed you to see if
my surmise was correct. You are young and fair--surely life could not
have lost all hope and sunshine for you?"

"You do not know all," said Daisy, wearily, "or you would not have
held me back. I do not know of another life so utterly hopeless as my
own."

The good man looked at the sweet, innocent, beautiful face, upon which
the starlight fell, quite bewildered and thoughtful.

"I should like to know what your trouble is," he said, gently.

"I could tell you only one half of it," she replied, wearily. "I have
suffered much, and yet through no fault of my own. I am cast off,
deserted, condemned to a loveless, joyless life; my heart is broken;
there is nothing left me but to die. I repeat that it is a sad fate."

"It is indeed," replied the apothecary, gravely. "Yet, alas! not an
uncommon one. Are you quite sure that nothing can remedy it?"

"Quite sure," replied Daisy, hopelessly. "My doom is fixed; and no
matter how long I live, or how long he lives, it can never be
altered."

The apothecary was uncomfortable without knowing why, haunted by a
vague, miserable suspicion, which poor Daisy's words secretly
corroborated; yet it seemed almost a sin to harbor one suspicion
against the purity of the artless little creature before him. He
looked into the fresh young face. There was no cloud on it, no guilt
lay brooding in the clear, truthful blue eyes. He never dreamed little
Daisy was a