nly nothing could be
more irksome than the daily task of reading to poor Mrs. Mortlock, but
the fifteen shillings a week which she now earned regularly was a
wonderful help to the household purse, and Primrose performed her
irksome duties with a cheerful, and even thankful heart. Her anxieties
about Daisy were almost laid to rest. Since the child had been moved
to Miss Egerton's house she seemed quite a changed creature. Her old
cheerfulness and sweet calm were returning to her. Morning after
morning she bade Primrose good-bye with a bright smile on her little
face, and however long and dull her day was, she greeted her sister
happily at night. What, therefore, was poor Primrose's consternation
to find, on returning home the evening after Jasmine had made
arrangements for the publication of her manuscript not only Jasmine,
but Miss Egerton and Bridget all surrounding poor little Daisy, who
lay on the sofa with a ghastly white face, and burst into nervous
troubled weeping whenever she was spoken to.

"We found her in such a queer state," said Jasmine; but Miss Egerton
held up a warning hand.

"Let it rest now, my dear," she said; "we need not go into the story
in Daisy's presence; she wants perfect quiet. Primrose, she has been
longing so for you; will you sit down by her, and hold her hand?"

Daisy opened her eyes when she heard Primrose's name, and held up a
hot little hand to her sister, who clasped it very firmly.

"I want to speak to you all by yourself, Primrose," she whispered.
"Please ask Jasmine, and Miss Egerton, and Bridget to go away. I want
to say something most important to you."

"Leave us for a moment," said Primrose to the others; and Jasmine went
down with Miss Egerton to the sitting-room.

The moment Daisy found herself quite alone with Primrose she raised
her head, ceased crying, and looked at her sister with bright feverish
eyes, and cheeks that burned.

"Primrose," she said, "would you think it very, very wrong of me if I
did something that wasn't in itself the very best thing to do, but
something that I had to do to prevent a dreadful ogre putting me down
into a dark dungeon? Would it be very wrong of me to do a very little
thing to prevent it, Primrose?"

"My darling," said Primrose, "your poor little head must be wandering.
I don't understand what you mean, my dear little one. Of course it
would be only right of you to keep away from an ogre, and not to allow
one to touch you--but there