ting her mad, hasty marriage.

"I have great faith in your acknowledged ability," said Rex, grasping
Mr. Tudor's outstretched hand. "I shall rest my hopes upon your
finding Daisy. I can not, will not, believe she is false. I would as
soon think of the light of heaven playing me false as my sweet little
love!"

* * * * *

The dark mantle of night had folded its dusky wings over the inmates
of the seminary. All the lights were out in the young ladies'
rooms--as the nine-o'clock call, "All lights out!" had been called
some ten minutes before--all the lights save one, flickering, dim, and
uncertain, from Daisy's window.

"Oh, dear!" cried Daisy, laying her pink cheek down on the letter she
was writing to Rex, "I feel as though I could do something _very_
desperate to get away from here--and--and--back to Rex. Poor fellow!"
she sighed, "I wonder what he thought, as the hours rolled by and I
did not come? Of course he went over to the cottage," she mused, "and
Septima must have told him where I had gone. Rex will surely come for
me to-morrow," she told herself, with a sweet, shy blush.

She read and reread the letter her trembling little hands had penned
with many a heart-flutter. It was a shy, sweet little letter,
beginning with "Dear Mr. Rex," and ending with, "Yours sincerely,
Daisy." It was just such a dear, timid letter as many a pure,
fresh-hearted loving young girl would write, brimful of the love which
filled her guileless heart for her handsome, debonair Rex--with many
allusions to the secret between them which weighed so heavily on her
heart, sealing her lips for his dear sake.

After sealing and directing her precious letter, and placing it in the
letter-bag which hung at the lower end of the corridor, Daisy hurried
back to her own apartment and crept softly into her little white bed,
beside Sara, and was soon fast asleep, dreaming of Rex and a dark,
haughty, scornful face falling between them and the sunshine--the
cold, mocking face of Pluma Hurlhurst.

Mme. Whitney, as was her custom, always looked over the out-going
mail early in the morning, sealing the letters of which she approved,
and returning, with a severe reprimand, those which did not come up to
the standard of her ideas.

"What is this?" she cried, in amazement, turning the letter Daisy had
written in her hand. "Why, I declare, it is actually sealed!" Without
the least compunction she broke the seal,