breast as he
reflected what interpretation might be given to her words.

"You _cannot_!" he repeated, ignoring the position in which he stood,
and the presence of the others. "_You must!_"

Mr. Weil made haste to allay the storm that he saw was still rising.

"Let us be considerate," he said. "Miss Fern is not well. She is tired
and nervous. To-morrow, when she has rested, she will be only too glad
to tell us the history of her strange disappearance."

Mr. Fern looked uneasily from his daughter to the gentlemen and back
again. He loved her dearly, and in this new danger that seemed to
threaten her--danger perhaps even to her reputation--he wanted more than
ever to shield her from all harm. Whatever had happened she was his
child. She should not be baited and badgered by any one. But Daisy did
not give him time to speak in her defense. She answered Mr. Weil almost
as soon as the question left his lips.

"It cannot be. Not to-morrow, nor at any other time, can I tell you--or
any person--anything. You must never ask me. It would merely give me
pain, and heaven knows I shall suffer enough without it. Let me say a
little more, for this is the last time I shall ever speak of these
things. To you, Mr. Weil, I want to give my warmest thanks. You have
been a true friend to me and mine. I do not mean to seem ungrateful, but
I can tell you no more. And as for you, Shirley," she turned with set
eyes to the novelist, "you know what we were to each other. It is all
ended now. Even if you had expressed no disbelief in me when you heard I
had disappeared, it would be just the same. I hold no hard feelings
against you, whatever my father may say. It is simply good-by. I shall
not remain here much longer. Do not let this make you unhappy any longer
than you can help. Now, you must excuse me, for my strength is gone."

Daisy had been much longer saying these things than the reader will be
in perusing them. They had come in gasps, as from one in severe pain,
and there were pauses of many seconds. When she had finished she rose,
and leaning heavily on the feeble old man who escorted her, walked
slowly out of the room.

"Well, this ends it, then," said Roseleaf, gloomily, following the fair
figure with heavy eyes.

"No, Shirley, it does not; it _shall_ not!" replied Weil. "There is some
dreadful mistake here, and a little time will clear it away. Have
patience."

The novelist gazed at the speaker with a strange look.

"I have tr