"No," said the weary, faithful mother. "Daisy does not feel able to see callers to-night; I'll attend to it." She held out her hand for the card and read on it: "Mrs. J. C. Dunlap, Albany." "Dunlap!" Over that name the face of the mother flushed, then paled. That was the name of the woman who had watched over her darling with such wise and patient care, and brought her safely home! Could it possibly be the same woman who was waiting in the parlor! If so, how could she talk with her just now? She felt completely exhausted. Still, Daisy certainly must not be called. She reminded herself that the name Dunlap was common enough, even though she did not happen to recall it among her acquaintances. It really was not at all probable that a woman who lived hundreds of miles away should suddenly appear late in the evening to make a call! At last she crossed the hall and opened the living-room door. One glance sufficed; the woman who arose at her entrance was the same one who had kissed Daisy goodbye with unmistakable tenderness only a few days before! "I'm afraid I have startled you," said Mary Dunlap moving forward; for Daisy's mother had paused suddenly the moment she caught sight of her caller, and her pale face was expressive of pain. "Of course you did not expect to see me so soon again, but I—it became my duty to return West sooner than I had planned. I hope I may see your daughter for a few minutes? There is a—I have heard of—something connected with our journey together, that she, perhaps, ought to be told." It was a very hesitating sentence; the speaker's tone and manner suggested embarrassing uncertainty as to just what she should do next. Something helped the mother to self-control and decision. Whatever that woman thought she ought to tell Daisy ought to be told! She believed in her! She might be mistaken in judgment, of course; unduly alarmed about a small matter; all people were liable to mistakes, occasionally. But she was sincere! Of that, Mrs. Sheldon felt absolutely sure; and what she had to say might help to clear away some anxieties. She held out her hand and spoke cordially. "I am glad to see you again, Mrs. Dunlap, but I am afraid that my daughter will not be able to do so, this evening; she has had a somewhat trying day and is feeling to-night as though she could not talk with anybody. She seems nervously unstrung with her recent experiences. She has retired, I think, but perhaps you will trust me with a message?" Mrs. Dunlap reached a quick decision. "Perhaps I had better tell you all about it," she said, speaking as an intimate friend might have done. "I have taken a room at the Delport House, and shall not leave until sometime to-morrow afternoon I think. If Daisy is feeling better, I could see her in the morning. I hope you will pardon my interest in your daughter and my familiar use of her name. She and I grew quite intimate during that one day you know."