"Tut, tut, child!" exclaimed the old man, brusquely. "That innocent little face of yours ought to be a passport to any one's confidence. I don't think there's any doubt but what you will get on famously with Maria--that's my sister Mrs. Glenn--but she's got three daughters that would put an angel's temper on edge. They're my nieces--more's the pity, for they are regular Tartars. Mrs. Glenn sent for my daughter Alice to come down there; but, Lord bless you, I wouldn't dare send her! There would be a raging quarrel before twenty-four hours! My Alice has got a temper of her own. But, pshaw! I ought not to frighten you, my dear; they could not help but love _you_." And thus it was Daisy's fate was unchangeably settled for her. "There is one thing I would like you to promise me," she said, timidly, "and that is never to divulge my whereabouts to any one who might come in search of me. I must remain dead to the world forever; I shall never take up the old life again. They must believe me dead." Argument and persuasion alike were useless; and, sorely troubled at heart, the apothecary reluctantly consented. Poor little Daisy impulsively caught him by both hands, and gratefully sobbed out her thanks. The arrangements were soon completed, and before the gray dawn pierced the darkness of the eastern sky poor little Daisy was whirling rapidly away from Elmwood. The consternation and excitement which prevailed at the Burton Cottage when Daisy's absence was discovered can better be imagined than described; or the intense anger of Stanwick upon finding Daisy had eluded him. "Checkmated!" he cried, white to the very lips. "But she shall not escape me; she shall suffer for this freak. I am not a man to be trifled with. She can not have gone far," he assured himself. "In all probability she has left Elmwood; but if by rail or by water I can easily recapture my pretty bird. Ah, Daisy Brooks!" he muttered, "you can not fly away from your fate; it will overtake you sooner or later." Some hours after Stanwick had left the cottage, an old man toiled wearily up the grass-grown path. "Oh, poor little Daisy," he said, wiping the tears from his eyes with his old red and white cotton kerchief; "no matter what you have done I will take you back to my heart--that I will!" He clutched the letter Mme. Whitney had written him close in his toil-hardened hand. The letter simply told him Daisy had fled from the seminary, and she had every reason to believe she was now in Elmwood. He had received the letter while in New York, and hastily proceeded to Elmwood, the station indicated, at once, without stopping over at Allendale to acquaint Septima with the news.