lle might have been killed by all that had happened. Could she be
dead? She was so terribly limp and still. Oh, if there were only
something she could do! Anything would be better than sitting waiting
for somebody to come. Yet the thought of leaving her cousin never so
much as occurred to her. She bent over her again, and began rubbing the
soft little hands with greater energy, till the sound of hastening
footsteps gladdened her heart.

'A whole lot of them are coming,' Alan called out as he ran up the
passage. 'Father, and Aunt Betty, and Mademoiselle, and the whole lot of
them. Is she any better? I say, is she insensible still?' His face
became alarmed and grave. 'What a fool I was to let her come with us!'

There was no time for lamentations, however. Colonel De Bohun and
Mademoiselle were running towards them, followed by Aunt Betty herself,
looking pale and anxious. There was no lack of helping, loving hands now
to carry the unconscious little girl to where she could receive every
attention. Colonel De Bohun lifted her in his arms, and Aunt Betty,
finding that cold water and strong smelling salts had no effect, desired
that she should be taken to her own room and the doctor sent for.

'Come with me,' said Alan, when he and Marjorie were left alone. 'It's
no use crying. I'm awfully cut up too, but I do believe it isn't
anything more than a faint. Estelle will be all right, you see. It is
hard luck her fainting like that, for we had got out of the scrape jolly
well. Don't you think so?'

'Oh, yes!' returned Marjorie, still feeling rather shaky with the fright
she had had about her cousin. 'If only Estelle had not fainted, it would
have been very exciting and jolly fun.'

'So it was! You come along to the turret, and let's talk this over. I've
a heap to tell you, but'--and he gazed earnestly into her face--'you
will promise you won't say a word till I give you leave?'

Marjorie promised, and the brother and sister betook themselves to the
little turret chamber. There was an ancient oak settle at one end of the
dingy little room, which had a horsehair cushion, rather worn and
threadbare, but still comfortable.

(_Continued on page 87._)

THE DAISY.

'I am only a poor little Daisy,' it said,
'Not tall like the Lily, nor like the Rose red;
'Mid the flowers of the wealthy I never am seen,
I have only to blossom each day on the green.

'The Violet has fragrance, the Rose and the Pink;
The P