f course I know where people go
who break their promises. No, I promised Mr. Dove, and I must always,
and always, and always keep my word; but I did not promise him that
I'd stay here. He wanted me to, and I just had it on the tip of my
tongue, for I was dreadfully frightened, but he heard a noise, and he
went away. I'm so glad I didn't promise, because the Prince says I
should go and live in the Palace Beautiful. He thinks I'm a selfish
little girl. Oh dear! how terrified I shall be, but I won't be a
selfish little girl, and keep Primrose and Jasmine away from the
Palace, and break the kind lady's heart. I must try and write a very
private little note to Mr. Dove, and tell him that though I am going
away I'll always and always keep my word about the sweeties, and I'll
always be his truest of friends, although I do fear him more than
anything in the world."

Here Primrose came in, and poor little Daisy roused herself, and tried
to talk cheerfully.

"Primrose," she said, "do you mind my writing a letter which nobody is
to see?"

Primrose laughed.

"You funny pet!" she said; "if no one is to see the letter why do you
trouble to write it?"

"I only mean, Primrose," continued Daisy, "that you are not to see it,
nor Jasmine, nor Miss Egerton, nor Mr. Noel. It is to--to somebody;
but you are not to be curious, Primrose, nor to ask any questions.
It's a most terribly important letter, and when it's written I'm going
to put it in the post myself. I'll go out with you, and you must turn
your back when I drop it into the pillar-box. You'll be very happy
when it's written, Primrose, and I'm doing it for you and Jasmine, and
because I won't be a selfish little girl."

Primrose stooped down and kissed Daisy.

"You may write your letter and post it," she said, "and I'll try not
to be the least bit curious, Eyebright. Now sit down and write away,
you have a nice quiet hour before Jasmine comes in to tea."

"So I have," answered Daisy; "thank you, Primrose. Please don't say
anything to me when I'm writing."

Then Daisy in her corner blotted her fingers, and brought a deep flush
to her little pale face, and ruined several sheets of note-paper, all
of which she carefully tore up to the smallest fragments. At last an
epistle, over which she sighed and trembled, and even dropped tears,
was finished. It ran as follows:--

"MY DEAR FRIEND, MR. DOVE,--I always and always will be most true to
you. I would not be such a wicked lit