"No one has ever loved me but poor old Uncle John!" She bent her fair young head and cried out to Heaven: "Why has no mercy been shown to me? I have never done one wrong, yet I am so sorely tried. Oh, mother, mother!" she cried, raising her blue eyes up to the starry sky, "if you could have foreseen the dark, cruel shadows that would have folded their pitiless wings over the head of your child, would you not have taken me with you down into the depths of the seething waters?" She raised up her white hands pleadingly as though she would fain pierce with her wrongs the blue skies, and reach the great White Throne. "I must be going mad," she said. "Why did Rex seek me out?" she cried, in anguish. "Why did Heaven let me love him so madly, and my whole life be darkened by living apart from him if I am to live? I had no thought of suffering and sorrow when I met him that summer morning. Are the summer days to pass and never bring him? Are the flowers to bloom, the sun to shine, the years to come and go, yet never bring him once to me? I can not bear it--I do not know how to live!" If she could only see poor old, faithful John Brooks again she would kneel at his feet just as she had done when she was a little child, lay her weary head down on his toil-hardened hand, tell him how she had suffered, and ask him how she could die and end it all. She longed so hungrily for some one to caress her, murmuring tender words over her. She could almost hear his voice saying as she told him her pitiful story: "Come to my arms, pet, my poor little trampled Daisy! You shall never want for some one to love you while poor old Uncle John lives. Bless your dear little heart!" The longing was strongly upon her. No one would recognize her--she _must_ go and see poor old John. She never thought what would become of her life after that. At the station she asked for a ticket for Allendale. No one seemed to know of such a place. After a prolonged search on the map the agent discovered it to be a little inland station not far from Baltimore. "We can sell you a ticket for Baltimore," he said, "and there you can purchase a ticket for the other road." And once again poor little Daisy was whirling rapidly toward the scene of her first great sorrow. Time seemed to slip by her unheeded during all that long, tedious journey of two nights and a day. "Are you going to Baltimore?" asked a gentle-faced lady, who was strangely attracted to the beautiful, sorrowful young girl, in which all hope, life, and sunshine seemed dead. "Yes, madame," she made answer, "I change cars there; I am going further." The lady was struck by the peculiar mournful cadence of the young voice.