"Mrs. Thornton is dangerously ill. Come at once." It was directed to Mr. McDonald, who with his wife had been on a trip to Russia, and was expected daily. Feeling intuitively that it concerned Daisy, Tom had opened it, and without a moment’s hesitation packed his valise and leaving a note for the McDonalds when they should return, started for Rouen. Daisy did not know him, and in her delirium she said things to him and of him which hurt him cruelly. Guy was her theme, and the letter which went "too late, too late." Then she would beg of Tom to go for Guy, to bring him to her, and tell him how much she loved him and how good she would be if he would only take her back. "Father wants me to marry Tom," she said in a whisper, and Tom’s heart almost stood still as he listened; "and Tom wanted me, too, but I couldn’t, you know, even if he were worth his weight in gold. I could not love him. Why, he’s got red hair, and such great freckles on his face, and big feet and hands with frecks on them. Do you know Tom?" "Yes, I know him," Tom answered, sadly, forcing down a choking sob, while the "big hand with the great frecks on it," smoothed the golden hair tenderly, and pushed it back from the burning brow. "Don’t talk any more, Daisy; it tires you so," he said, as he saw her about to speak again. But Daisy was not to be stopped, and she went on: "Tom is good, though; so good, but awkward, and I like him ever so much, but I can’t be his wife. I cannot. I cannot." "He doesn’t expect it now, or want it," came huskily from Tom, while Daisy quickly asked: "Doesn’t he?" "No, never any more; so, put it from your mind and try to sleep," Tom said, and again the freckled hands smoothed the tumbled pillows and wiped the sweat drops from Daisy’s face, while all the time the great kind heart was breaking, and the hot tears were rolling down the sunburnt face Daisy thought so ugly. Tom had heard from Madame Lafarcade of Guy’s marriage and, like her, understood why Daisy’s fever ran so high, and her mind was in such turmoil. But for himself he knew there was no hope, and with a feeling of death in his heart he watched by her day and night, yielding his place to no one, and saying to madame, when she remonstrated with him and bade him care for his own health: "It does not matter for me. I would rather die than not." Daisy was better when her mother came,—saved, the doctor said, more by Tom’s care and nursing than by his own skill, and then Tom gave up his post, and never went near her unless she asked for him. His "red hair and freckled face" were constantly in his mind, making him loathe the very sight of himself. "She cannot bear my looks, and I will not force myself upon her," he thought; and so he staid away, but surrounded her with every luxury money could buy, and as soon as she was able had her removed to a pretty little cottage which he rented and fitted up for her, and where she would be more at home and quieter than at Madame Lafarcade’s.