One thought only was uppermost in Daisy's mind as she sped swiftly down the flower-bordered path in the moonlight, away from the husband who was still so dear to her. "He did not recognize me," she panted, in a little quivering voice. "Would he have cursed me, I wonder, had he known it was I?" Down went the little figure on her knees in the dew-spangled grass with a sharp little cry. "Oh, dear, what shall I do?" she cried out in sudden fright. "How could I know she was his sister when I told her my name?" A twig fell from the bough above her head brushed by some night-bird's wing. "He is coming to search for me," she whispered to herself. A tremor ran over her frame; the color flashed into her cheek and parted lips, and a startled, wistful brightness crept into the blue eyes. Ah! there never could have been a love so sweetly trustful and child-like as little Daisy's for handsome Rex, her husband in name only. Poor, little, innocent Daisy! if she had walked straight back to him, crying out, "Rex, Rex, see, I am Daisy, your wife!" how much untold sorrow might have been spared her. Poor, little, lonely, heart-broken child-bride! how was she to know Rex had bitterly repented and come back to claim her, alas! too late; and how he mourned her, refusing to be comforted, and how they forced him back from the edge of the treacherous shaft lest he should plunge headlong down the terrible depths. Oh, if she had but known all this! If Rex had dropped down from the clouds she could not have been more startled and amazed at finding him in such close proximity away down in Florida. She remembered he had spoken to her of his mother, as he clasped her to his heart out in the starlight of that never-to-be-forgotten night, whispering to her of the marriage which had been the dearest wish of his mother's heart. She remembered how she had hid her happy, rosy, blushing face on his breast, and asked him if he was quite sure he loved her better than Pluma Hurlhurst, the haughty, beautiful heiress. "Yes, my pretty little sweetheart, a thousand times better," he had replied, emphatically, holding her off at arm's-length, watching the heightened color that surged over the dainty, dimpled face so plainly discernible in the white, radiant starlight. Daisy rested her head on one soft, childish hand, and gazed thoughtfully up at the cold, brilliant stars that gemmed the heavens above her. "Oh, if you had only warned me, little stars!" she said. "I was so happy then; and now life is so bitter!" A sudden impulse seized her, strong as her very life, to look upon his face again. "I would be content to live my weary life out uncomplainingly then," she said. Without intent or purpose she walked hurriedly back through the pansy-bordered path she had so lately traversed. The grand old trees seemed to stretch their giant arms protectingly over her, as if to ward off all harm.