Early that morning there had been great bustle and stir in the Brooks' cottage. In vain Daisy had attempted to steal quietly away into her own little room and write a hasty line to Rex, which, if all other means failed her, she could send to him by one of the men employed in the fields, begging him to come to her at once. Septima would not leave her to herself for a single instant. Even her writing-desk, which had stood on the bureau in the corner for years, was gone. Poor little Daisy cried out to herself--fate was against her. "I should like to say good-bye to the old familiar scenes, Septima," she said, making a desperate effort to meet Rex by some means. "I should like to see the old magnolia-tree down in the glade just once before I go." "Nonsense," replied Septima, sharply, a malicious smile hovering about the corners of her mouth. "I guess the trees and the flowers won't wither and die of grief if you don't bid them good-bye; it's too late now, anyhow. See, here is the stage coming already," she cried, glancing out of the window, "and here comes John with his valise and umbrella. Make haste, Daisy; where's your gloves and satchel?" For one brief instant Daisy stood irresolute; if she had only dared cry out to them "I am a bride; it is cruel to send me away from Rex," what a world of misery might have been spared her! but her lips were sealed. "Well, well," cried John Brooks, hurriedly entering the room; "not ready yet, little girlie? We must be off at once or we will miss the train." In vain Daisy protested brokenly she could not go, and the agony in those blue uplifted eyes would have touched a heart of stone. Still John Brooks believed it would be a sin to comply with her request. Go to school she must, for Heaven had intended a cultured mind should accompany so beautiful a face. Half lifting, half carrying the slight figure in his powerful arms, Daisy was borne, half fainting and sobbing as though her heart would break, to the vehicle which stood in waiting. On through the fragrant stillness of that sunshiny summer morning the jolting stage rolled rapidly on its way, crossing the little bridge where she had lingered only the night before with Rex, her husband; they would soon reach the alder bushes that skirted the pool. The next bend in the road would bring her in sight of the magnolia-tree where Rex would be awaiting her. Ah, thank Heaven, it was not too late! she could fling out her arms, and cry out: "Rex, my love, my darling, they are bearing me from you! Save me, Rex, my darling, save me!" John Brooks sat quietly by her side silently wondering what had come over little Daisy--sweet, impulsive little Daisy--in a single night. "She is only a child," he muttered to himself, "full of whims and caprices; crying her eyes out last week because she could not go off to school, and now crying because she's got to go."