The woful, terrified gaze of the blue eyes deepened pitifully, but she spoke no word, and Rex turned from her--turned from the girl-bride whom he loved so madly, with a bursting, broken heart, more bitter to bear than death itself--left her alone with the pitying sunlight falling upon her golden hair, and her white face turned up to heaven, silently praying to God that she might die then and there. Oh, Father above, pity her! She had no mother's gentle voice to guide her, no father's strong breast to weep upon, no sister's soothing presence. She was so young and so pitifully lonely, and Rex had drifted out of her life forever, believing her--oh, bitterest of thoughts!--believing her false and sinful. Poor little Daisy was ignorant of the ways of the world; but a dim realization of the full import of the terrible accusation brought against her forced its way to her troubled brain. She only realized--Rex--her darling Rex, had gone out of her life forever. Daisy flung herself face downward in the long, cool, waving green grass where Rex had left her. "Daisy," called Miss Burton, softly, "it is all over; come into the house, my dear." But she turned from her with a shuddering gasp. "In the name of pity, leave me to myself," she sobbed; "it is the greatest kindness you can do me." And the poor old lady who had wrought so much sorrow unwittingly in those two severed lives, walked slowly back to the cottage, with tears in her eyes, strongly impressed there must be some dark mystery in the young girl's life who was sobbing her heart out in the green grass yonder; and she did just what almost any other person would have done under the same circumstances--sent immediately for Lester Stanwick. He answered the summons at once, listening with intense interest while the aged spinster briefly related all that had transpired; but through oversight or excitement she quite forgot to mention Rex had called Daisy his wife. "Curse him!" he muttered, under his breath, "I--I believe the girl actually cares for him." Then he went out to Daisy, lying so still and lifeless among the pink clover and waving grass. Poor Daisy! Poor, desperate, lonely, struggling child! All this cruel load of sorrow, crushing her girlish heart, and blighting her young life, and she so innocent, so entirely blameless, yet such a plaything of fate. "Daisy," he said, bending over her and lifting the slight form in his arms, "they tell me some one has been troubling you. Who has dared annoy you? Trust in me, Daisy. What is the matter?" Lester Stanwick never forgot the white, pitiful face that was raised to his. "I want to die," she sobbed. "Oh, why did you not leave me to die in the dark water? it was so cruel of you to save me." "Do you want to know why I risked my life to save you, Daisy? Does not my every word and glance tell you why?" The bold glance in his eyes spoke volumes. "Have you not guessed that I love you, Daisy?"