me? Is there no way in which I can be
rid of you?"

"I have told you the one only way. I
will go now for to-night that you may get
rest."

She lifted sad pleading eyes to him. She
had half a notion that she was looking
on him for the last time; that for his sake
she might have strength some way to end
things. She wished he would bend down
to kiss her, but he did not. There was
only a very tenderly spoken " Good-night,
Daisy," and he was gone.

As he walked home he recalled some
words of Daisy's that had been among the
last words she had spoken to him before he
left England.

"I've been thinking, Kenneth, of what
you told me about Graham. I know it's
true, because you told me. As it's true he
can't be good. I shouldn't like to (how
well he remembered the pretty flush and
hesitation with which the next word was
spoken) marry any one who isn't good. I
want making good, and keeping good
myself. He has no promise of mine, and,
Kenneth, he never will have. I tell you
this now, because I have seen that you are
anxious about me."

How well he remembered the exact how,
and when, and where, those words of
Daisy's had been spoken.

They had stood together at the glass-
door of the drawing-room, of what was
then Daisy's home, looking down the
bright lawn to the shining river.

He remembered how confidingly she had
clung to his arm, how, while she was
speaking, she kept brushing away from
his sleeve petals from the overblown roses
that kept falling there.

He remembered how sweet and how fair
he had felt her. He remembered the hard
fight he had fought to hinder himself from
clasping her in his arms and saying:

' Wait for me, Daisy. It is I who love
you. Wait for me, be my Wife."

He remembered how hard it had been
when, at parting, the sweet fresh mouth
was lifted for his kiss, to leave unsaid any
word that should have startled the child
to consciousness of the love with which he
loved her.

But at that time Mr. Stewart was not
only poor, but had others dependent upon
him. At that time he had no thought of
the possibility of succeeding to Redcombe
Manor, there being then two lives, to all
appearance as " good " as his between him
and such succession.

When Daisy found herself alone, she set
herself to think if, in any way, she might
win into this heaven of happiness which
seemed to stand open to her with a visible
door, while by an invisible door it was close
shut. There seemed to be two ways, if
only either were possible. Suppose she
yielded to his wish and let him make her
his wife: leaving all her secret undisclosed,
letting things go as they would,
leaving the future to shape itself? Perhaps,
had she believed in her own power
to be, in this way, happy, she might have
chosen this course, deceiving herself with
the sophistry that she yielded for his sake.
But Daisy knew she could not, so, be
happy; knew that, sooner or later, the
misery of concealment would become
unendurable, and then it seemed to her his
sorrow over her sin, his grief at her deceit,
when he should come to know, would
kill her. She remembered, in long past
times, how he had looked when she was
"naughty," when she talked perversely,
and acted wilfully. Remembering the pain,
which seemed both mental and physical,
his face had, at such times, expressed, she
had only to imagine a proportionate suffering
in him, when his wife should convict
herself of such secretness and treacherous
deception, to believe that he might well die
of such anguish. That way, then, was
not the possible way. What of the other?

To tell him everything, and trust to his
love being so strong that, in spite of
everything, he should still wish her for his wife!
Was this the possible way? No, no, no,
she decided.

"If I knew that he knew, there would
be times when I should not but be forced
to believe that he must think of me with
disgust. How could I bear this? I could
not bear it. No, there is no way in which
I may be his wife— I could not be his wife,
and deceive him. I cannot be his wife if
he knows. What, then, is there left for me
to do?"

Daisy did not sleep this night. She
tried to plan some future. If only there
were but some place and some person in
the world to whom and to which he would
be satisfied that she should go, then
possibly in time he might forget her, and
learn to be happy—alone, or with some
other. But there was no such person and
there was no such place.

From the misery and perplexity of this
sleepless night Daisy could not seek help
in prayer. How can we pray when there
stands on the threshold of spiritual