"She probably read it and destroyed it," said Gertie, "Well, there was nothing in it very particular. Toward the last of it I mentioned I would send the note over by Daisy Brooks, my mother's companion. More than likely she took umbrage at that." "That was a very unkind remark," asserted Eve. "You had no business to mention it at all; it was uncalled for." "Well, she would not have known it if she had not read it," replied Gertie. "You must admit that." Mrs. Glenn felt sorely troubled. In the short time Daisy had been with her she had put unlimited confidence in her. No one thought of searching for her; they all accepted the facts as the case presented itself to them. Daisy had certainly left them of her own free will. Eve alone felt distressed. "I know everything looks that way, but I shall never believe it," she cried. She remembered the conversation she had so lately had with Daisy. How she had clasped her loving little arms about her neck, crying out: "Pray for me, Eve. I am sorely tried. My feet are on the edge of a precipice. No matter what I may be tempted to do, do not lose faith in me, Eve; always believe in me." Poor little Daisy! what was the secret sorrow that was goading her on to madness? Would she ever know? Where was she now? Ah, who could tell? A curious change seemed to come over romping, mischievous, merry Eve; she had grown silent and thoughtful. "I could never believe any one in this world was true or pure again if I thought for one moment deceit lay brooding in a face so fair as little Daisy Brooks's." CHAPTER XXVII. The months flew quickly by; the cold winter had slipped away, and the bright green grass and early violets were sprinkling the distant hill-slopes. The crimson-breasted robins were singing in the budding branches of the trees, and all Nature reminded one the glorious spring had come. Rex Lyon stood upon the porch of Whitestone Hall gazing up at the white, fleecy clouds that scudded over the blue sky, lost in deep thought. He was the same handsome, debonair Rex, but ah, how changed! The merry, laughing brown eyes looked silent and grave enough now, and the lips the drooping brown mustache covered rarely smiled. Even his voice seemed to have a deeper tone. He had done the one thing that morning which his mother had asked him to do with her dying breath--he had asked Pluma Hurlhurst to be his wife. The torture of the task seemed to grow upon him as the weeks rolled by, and in desperation he told himself he must settle the matter at once, or he would not have the strength to do it.