ttle Daisy's honor is avenged, so
help me God! You think she is dead?" he questioned, looking brokenly
from the one to the other.

They only nodded their heads; they could not speak through their
sobs.

At that moment several of the neighbors who were assisting in the
search were seen coming toward the cottage.

They gathered in a little knot by the garden wall. With a heart
heavier than lead in his bosom John Brooks went forward to meet them.

"You haven't got any track of my little Daisy?" he asked, despondingly.
The men averted their faces. "For God's sake speak out, my men!" he
cried, in agony; "I can't stand this suspense."

"There are footprints in the wet grass down yonder," one of them
replied; "and they lead straight down to the old shaft. Do you think
your girl has made away with herself?"

A gray, ghastly pallor settled over John Brooks' anguished face.

"The Lord knows! All of you stay here while I go down there and look.
If I should find anything there I'd rather be alone."

There was a depth of agony in the man's voice that touched his
hearers, and more than one coat-sleeve was drawn hastily across
sympathetic eyes as they whispered one to the other he would surely
find her there.

John Brooks had reached the very mouth of the pit now, and through the
branches of the trees the men saw him suddenly spring forward, and
stoop as if to pick up something, and bitter cries rent the stillness
of the summer morning.

"Daisy! oh, Daisy! my child, my child!"

Then they saw him fall heavily to the ground on the very brink of the
shaft.

"I guess he's found her!" cried the sympathizing men. "Let us go and
see."

They found John Brooks insensible, lying prone on his face, grasping a
tiny little glove in one hand, and in the other a snowy little
handkerchief, which bore, in one corner, worked in fanciful design,
the name of "Daisy."

CHAPTER XVII.

Glengrove was one of the most beautiful spots in the south of
Florida. The house--similar to many in the South in style of
architecture--stood in the midst of charming grounds which were
filled with flowers. To the left of the house was a large shrubbery
which opened on to a wide carriage-drive leading to the main road,
but the principal attraction of Glengrove was its magnificent
orange grove, where the brilliant sunshine loved to linger longest
among the dark-green boughs, painting the luscious fruit with its
own golden coloring--from green to