Mr. Tudor jotted down the address, feeling actually sorry for the handsome young husband clinging to such a frail straw of hope. In his own mind, long before Rex had concluded his story, he had settled his opinion--that from some cause the young wife had fled from him with some rival, bitterly repenting her mad, hasty marriage. "I have great faith in your acknowledged ability," said Rex, grasping Mr. Tudor's outstretched hand. "I shall rest my hopes upon your finding Daisy. I can not, will not, believe she is false. I would as soon think of the light of heaven playing me false as my sweet little love!" * * * * * The dark mantle of night had folded its dusky wings over the inmates of the seminary. All the lights were out in the young ladies' rooms--as the nine-o'clock call, "All lights out!" had been called some ten minutes before--all the lights save one, flickering, dim, and uncertain, from Daisy's window. "Oh, dear!" cried Daisy, laying her pink cheek down on the letter she was writing to Rex, "I feel as though I could do something _very_ desperate to get away from here--and--and--back to Rex. Poor fellow!" she sighed, "I wonder what he thought, as the hours rolled by and I did not come? Of course he went over to the cottage," she mused, "and Septima must have told him where I had gone. Rex will surely come for me to-morrow," she told herself, with a sweet, shy blush. She read and reread the letter her trembling little hands had penned with many a heart-flutter. It was a shy, sweet little letter, beginning with "Dear Mr. Rex," and ending with, "Yours sincerely, Daisy." It was just such a dear, timid letter as many a pure, fresh-hearted loving young girl would write, brimful of the love which filled her guileless heart for her handsome, debonair Rex--with many allusions to the secret between them which weighed so heavily on her heart, sealing her lips for his dear sake. After sealing and directing her precious letter, and placing it in the letter-bag which hung at the lower end of the corridor, Daisy hurried back to her own apartment and crept softly into her little white bed, beside Sara, and was soon fast asleep, dreaming of Rex and a dark, haughty, scornful face falling between them and the sunshine--the cold, mocking face of Pluma Hurlhurst. Mme. Whitney, as was her custom, always looked over the out-going mail early in the morning, sealing the letters of which she approved, and returning, with a severe reprimand, those which did not come up to the standard of her ideas. "What is this?" she cried, in amazement, turning the letter Daisy had written in her hand. "Why, I declare, it is actually sealed!" Without the least compunction she broke the seal, grimly scanning its contents from beginning to end. If there was anything under the sun the madame abominated it was love-letters.