Was Daffodil learning her lesson? Aldis Bartram thought very slowly. But he was a man who prized hard won contests. And if with the attractive young men about her through the winter she had not been won, then she was not an easy prize. He smiled at times over her careful and futile reasoning. At least they would have the winter to go over the ground. And though he was becoming an ardent lover he was not an impatient one. There are some events and decisions in life that are precipitated by a shock, the film that held one in thrall, veiling the clear sight, is suddenly disrupted. And this happened to Daffodil Carrick. Her father put an English paper in her hand one evening as he came up the path where roses were still blooming. It had been remailed in Philadelphia. "From Madame Clerval," she said with a smile. "Some gay doings, I fancy. She has friends in London." She glanced it over carelessly. The summer struggles had made her more of a patriot, and brought to her mind vividly the morning she had run out to know the cause of Kirsty Boyle's call and the ringing of his bell. A very little girl. She was always glad she had heard it. She turned the paper to and fro rather impatiently. Oh, what was here with the black insignia of death: "_Died, at Hurst Abbey, of a malignant fever. Margaretta, wife of Jeffrey, Lord Andsdell, only remaining son of the Earl of Wrenham._" She was not interested in the beauty of the bride, who had been a great belle in her day and won no little fame on the stage, nor the terrible accident that had deprived the Earl of two older sons and two grandsons, paving the way for the succession of Lord Andsdell. She shuddered and turned ghostly pale, and was terrified with a strange presentiment. But she could not talk of it just yet and was glad Norry and grandad came in to spend the evening with them. The next morning she gave her father a little note with "important" written on the corner of the folded paper. "What now?" enquired her father laughingly, "Did you forget your postscript?" She assented with a nod. Then she went about her daily duties, but a great terror surged at her heart. She was to remember through everything that she was the only woman Jeffrey Andsdell loved. Long ago she had cast it out. No doubt he had been happy in his ancestral home, at least, he had chosen that, well, wisely, too. But to ask that the woman he wronged should cling to her burthen! How slowly the days passed. Aldis Bartram might have been away when the note came--he had been to Baltimore on some troublesome business--but waiting seemed very hard. And when it drew near to the time, she used to take different paths down by the square where the stage came in, just far enough away to see, but not be seen, and stand with a blushing face and a strange trembling at her heart. One day she was rewarded. There was the manly figure, the erect head, the firm, yet elastic step. A sudden pride leaped up in her heart.